Eldest of the Pleiades - 2019
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: My third rewrite of this story - shoot me, if you want! When Pettigrew is captured during Harry's third year, it sets off a chain of events that drastically alter how Lord Voldemort wanted his Second Wizarding War to unfold. Harry's godmother returns to England, bringing her children with her - including Maia. Their lives are all turned upside down when they meet at Number 12.
1. Cat, Rat and Dog

**A.N.** : If you want to use voodoo to punish me for overhauling this story _again_ …I understand. I just couldn't help it! I went to see _The Crimes of Grindelwald_ and fell in love with Theseus and Leta, and Zoё Kravitz! Damn her, that bone-structure!

You'll see themes borrowed from the old version of Maia, but I'm trying to finesse the story a little more than I did last time. I may extend the timelines a bit so everything doesn't happen at once, but hopefully it'll feel organic.

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 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Cat, Rat and Dog_

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"YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED! DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!"

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised. Terrible malevolence radiated from Black; from Professor Lupin, a sad sort of calm.

"You should have realised," Lupin said quietly, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter."

Hermione covered her face with her hands, turning away, her lip trembling. Ron looked about ready to faint, though that might have had more to do with his broken leg, which he was still clutching, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his freckled face.

But this wasn't right. He couldn't watch this. He stared at the two men - his father's best friends: One, too world-weary and unhappy for someone as young, clever and loyal as he was; and the other, emaciated by his own worst memories, by fear - and a little madness. He looked at the man who had once laughed at his parents' wedding, and believed he had grieved more for Harry's parents than he ever had: But then, Black had grown up with them, known them, _remembered_ them. He had more than just his mother's dying words replaying over and over in his head whenever the Dementors got too close.

"NO!" Running forward, he faced the two wands. "You can't kill him!" he panted. "You can't!"

The two men looked thunderstruck.

"Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents," Black snarled, still as skeletal and alarming to look at as five minutes ago, but…he could see it, now; the desperation, the grief, the anger, the _focus_. Everything that had kept Black going…to _protect Harry_. "This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die, too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family."

"I know," Harry panted. "We'll take him up to the castle. We'll hand him over to the Dementors. He can go to Azkaban…just don't kill him."

"Harry!" Pettigrew gasped, flinging his arms around Harry's knees. "You - thank you - it's more than I deserve - than you - "

"Get off me!" Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew's hands away. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it because I don't reckon my dad would've wanted his best friends to become killers - just for you."

For a moment, no-one moved; the only sounds came from the groaning of the house settling in the wind, Ron's stifled moans of pain, and the wheezing breaths of panic-stricken Pettigrew. Black and Lupin stared at each other for a long moment, reading each other the way…the way Harry and Ron could, he realised. Twelve years in Azkaban, another year on the run, and the two men had slipped back into the kind of intimacy born of deep loyalty and years of unconditional friendship.

As one, they lowered their wands.

"You're the only person who has the right to decide, Harry," Black said softly. "But think…think what he did…"

"He can go to Azkaban," Harry said decisively, feeling suddenly more mature than a skinny thirteen-year-old with frightfully messy hair and knobbly knees. "If anyone deserves that place, he does…"

"Very well… Stand aside, Harry…" Pettigrew wheezed on the dusty floor, and Harry watched Professor Lupin shrewdly as he approached. Lupin reassured him, "I'm going to tie him up. That's all, I swear." Harry frowned, but nodded, and stepped aside. Thin cords bound Pettigrew in an instant, wriggling like an absurd earthworm on the dusty floor.

"But if you transform, Peter," Black growled, his own wand on Pettigrew, "we _will_ kill you. You agree, Harry?" Harry stared at the pitiful creature now whimpering and crying at his feet, and nodded so that Pettigrew could see.

"Right," Lupin said brusquely, "Ron, I'm afraid I'm not nearly as qualified as Madam Pomfrey, but I can bind that leg until we can get you to the Hospital Wing. I'd rather not meddle, you understand."

"Last year, Professor Lockhart tried to mend Harry's arm during a Quidditch match," Ron laughed, still sweating, but looking more optimistic. "He got rid of all the bones in his arm instead! Remember, Harry?"

"I'm not likely to forget," Harry said grimly, flexing the offending arm. "At least you won't have to drink Skelegrow."

Lupin approached the four-poster bed, where Crookshanks was purring loudly. Tapping Ron's leg lightly with his wand, he said clearly, " _Ferula_." A splint and bandages appeared from thin-air, binding themselves to Ron's leg. Lupin helped him off the bed, and Ron winced only slightly when he put his weight on his leg.

"That's better," he said, relieved. "Thanks."

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione's voice was small, and polite, and she was stood looking down at Snape, still unconscious.

"Yes, Hermione?" Lupin answered, just as politely as if they were in the classroom talking about Kappas.

"I… I think perhaps we ought to revive Professor Snape," she said, and Harry recognised the feverish gleam in her eye, the one that told him that he and Ron they would be spending a lot of time in the library. She glanced from Harry to Ron, then looked Professor Lupin and Black in the face, with a touch more confidence. With a wince, she said, "Professor Dumbledore will listen to us, but there are Dementors all over and the Minister of Magic isn't…well… Nobody's going to listen to three troublemakers and a werewolf, not about something like this. It upsets everything we thought was settled over a decade ago."

Lupin glanced quickly at Black, communicating more with a look than they needed to in words. He seemed not to notice the three skinny teenagers, as he frowned thoughtfully, murmuring, more to himself than anyone else, "What would Ell have us do?"

Black started, as if he had been struck, his expression flickering between guilt-stricken, anguished, yearning and lost, and Harry saw his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His pale eyes glowed, but never strayed from Lupin's face. Harry could _see_ him thinking, his pale eyes vivid in the skeletal face that seemed carved from marble.

Pettigrew wriggled on the dusty floor. Harry was tempted to kick him to make him stop.

With a deep sigh, Black strode over to Professor Snape; Lupin turned his wand on Pettigrew as Black directed his borrowed wand at its master. Before he did anything, Black picked up Harry's Invisibility Cloak, folded it neatly, and passed it to Harry with a ghost of a smile. Harry tucked the Cloak inside his jumper. With great effort, it seemed, going against his instincts, Black revived Snape with an unspoken spell.

When he roused, groggy and bleeding, the first thing Snape's furious, glittering black eyes landed on…was Pettigrew. Bound and gagged where, a short while ago, he had bound Lupin. For a good long while, there was no reaction. Unlike Black, Harry had no idea what was going on in Snape's mind; he was a closed book.

The house creaked and groaned; Pettigrew whimpered around his gag. And they all jumped as Snape launched himself at the cowering mess on the floor. For a second, the two adults were too stunned to react, as Hermione shouted and Harry gaped, and on the bed, Crookshanks flicked his tail, his expression almost smug as he watched.

Then Black caught Snape, one skeletal hand clamped on his shoulder, hauling him away from the whimpering, now-bleeding mess that was one of Harry's father's formerly best friends.

" _No_." Black sounded as dangerous as the bear-sized dog he could turn into, his eyes glowing in the faint light. "Snape… You needed to _see_. To understand." He raised Snape's wand against him, not an overt threat but a warning, that he _would_ be heard this time.

Harry had never seen Professor Snape so angry, Black's earlier fury paling in comparison. All the times Harry had been brought up in front of the Potions master, for one reason or another, he had never seen the professor like this, speechless, apoplectic. He couldn't help wonder at the professor's reaction - well, that it wasn't directed at _him_. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, who looked as stunned as he felt.

"Peter Pettigrew…at least, what's left of him. You'll notice a finger missing," Black said coolly, staring down Snape. "I escaped Azkaban to kill only one person; though it's more than he deserves, Harry would have us send this putrescent maggot to Azkaban."

"Ellaria will vouch that Sirius was not the Potters' Secret Keeper," Lupin said, and Harry frowned, wondering who Ellaria was. He had never heard the name before, but the mention of her just a moment ago had coaxed Black to _think_ , and then to act, to wake Snape, a man he despised, and who loathed him, wanted to see him executed.

Black's eyes briefly flickered from Snape's face to Lupin, who looked sombre and tired.

"Ell knew, didn't she? She told me you were innocent when I didn't want to hear it," Lupin said sadly.

Speaking as if to the room in general, Black said, "I would have died to protect James and his family… Ellaria convinced me to _live_ for my own… I made the switch with Peter, thinking it was a coup, no-one would ever _dream_ … I was the natural, the _only_ choice… I abandoned Ellaria when we needed each other the most… Did she - ?" He glanced up at Lupin, something like apprehension in his pale eyes.

"Ellaria survived the war," Lupin said softly, with a small smile making him look years younger - more his actual age than a man ten years older. But there was something sad in his eyes, and Harry had to wonder at it. "Severus…we need you - we need _someone_ \- to hear the truth. The truth about who betrayed Lily and James. Someone people will listen to."

"You're the last person who would ever corroborate my story, Snape," Black said, loathing in his eyes as he stared down the Potions Master. "But if Dumbledore was ever right about you, you'd know how to prove this piece of vermin is the traitor who betrayed James and Lily."

"My wand," Snape said, so silkily Harry shrank back, catching Ron's eye. He knew that tone. That tone meant detention for a month. He _dreaded_ hearing that tone. Snape held out his hand to Black, who narrowed his eyes in loathing, but sighed, exchanging a look with Lupin.

No sooner had Snape taken possession of his wand than Pettigrew was hauled upright, rigid, shuddering with fear. Lupin's ropes disappeared, replaced by angry, glowing cords of light, maybe even of fire, tight and unforgiving. Pettigrew's squeaks and whimpering became constant; Snape pointed his wand at the shrunken, balding man, and the sleeve of his tattered old robes was slashed, revealing his grubby left forearm. Harry saw Black and Lupin exchange a frown, but they didn't interfere.

Harry realised he wasn't breathing, and slowly inhaled. It looked like Hermione was holding her breath, too, but she was frowning curiously at Snape.

He rarely saw magic being performed outside of a classroom setting, where the teachers went out of their way to verbalise every new spell they performed, as an example, or a reminder. But this was…adult magic, Harry thought. This was what he could do, after he finished Hogwarts; what he'd be capable of. Nonverbal, complicated magic. _Powerful_. That was what he got from Snape, standing in front of Pettigrew; the sense of barely-leashed _power_ , the same charge in the atmosphere that crackled around Black, and hummed around Lupin's calm surety. Snape felt brittle and dangerous, and Harry watched, frowning in confusion, as he pressed the tip of his wand to a point on Pettigrew's forearm.

The shadow of a mark appeared. A faded tattoo. A serpent-tongued skull. It burned black and ugly on Pettigrew's arm, and he whimpered, thrashing against the bonds that hissed and steamed against his bare skin, burning his clothes.

Hermione's lips parted on a silent gasp of recognition, but Harry and Ron exchanged a frown. Hermione must've read about it, but they had no clue. Harry turned to ask Lupin what the mark was, but he saw the professor exchanging a dark, loaded look with Black.

" _Legilimens_ ," Snape hissed softly, fury seeming to roll off him in waves.

What Snape was doing, Harry didn't know; he saw Black lean forward and murmur something in Lupin's ear. The professor nodded once, their eyes on the mark on Pettigrew's arm.

That white-hot, silent rage seemed to consume Snape when he opened his fathomless black eyes next.

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he turned to Black and Lupin. His lips did not move as he hissed, "Explain."

And so they told Professor Snape everything, finding out about Lupin, even the illegal Animagi. Even the bits he had heard before Harry, Ron and Hermione jinxed him, he listened to without interruption. Black reiterated that Lupin _hadn't_ been in on the plot to set Snape up when they were teenagers, and neither had Harry's dad… They talked about the War in more detail with someone who had endured it, as they had, who _remembered_. Some things couldn't be explained; but they didn't need to explain what things had been like when Voldemort was still in power.

Snape listened as Black told him about switching with Pettigrew as the Potters' Secret Keeper, telling no-one but Ellaria Scamander, an Auror.

Harry didn't interrupt this time, just perched beside Ron on the bed as if neither of them were in the room. The three adult wizards spoke of a time they had experienced together, on opposing sides of a war. Hermione watched Pettigrew, slowly revolving in mid-air, bound by fiery light, petting Crookshanks, who nuzzled her and purred loudly, the only source of noise when Black and Lupin fell silent.

Black retold the story of his escape, confusing the Dementors as a dog. He demonstrated his Animagus transformation for his former school rival, who showed no reaction but a furious glitter in his eye.

And Neville Longbottom was exonerated. At least, Black confessed that Crookshanks had stolen the Gryffindor passwords from Neville's bedside-table, and on his orders. The break-in to the school at Halloween had been about Sirius trying to murder _Pettigrew_ , not attack Harry, or Ron, who still had nightmares.

Sirius Black, though he could be accused of many things, was innocent of the crime of betraying James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort. Harry got the impression that was all Black truly cared about; that people knew he hadn't betrayed his friends.

He had not escaped Azkaban to kill Harry; but because he was the only one who understood the danger Harry was in. Not even Dumbledore could know it.

When Black finally finished talking, his voice was as hoarse as Harry had heard it all night. Snape stood, silent as a statue.

"Severus… Please," Lupin asked quietly, earnestly. "Will you help us?"

After a long moment, Snape's eyes narrowed. He was thinking, very quickly, very shrewdly. Finally, he said, so silkily and so dangerously Harry stifled a shudder, "You dread the loss of Dumbledore's trust most, Lupin; you can be the one to confess all. Even a werewolf's testimony is more trustworthy than an escaped convict's… This…this _coward_ will not escape my bindings; he shall stay in custody at the castle until a despatch can be delivered to the Auror Office."

Next, Snape turned his wand back on Pettigrew. With a series of complicated twists and flicks of his wand, scowling all the while, Snape seemed to alter or increase the spells binding Pettigrew, now unconscious, eyes open but glassy, slowly revolving in mid-air, bound by not just angry red fiery cords but heavy shackles that seemed to vibrate with power, binding his ankles, and his wrists crossed behind his back. He looked vaguely like a circus contortionist who had seen better days, lit up like an obscure and faintly nauseating Christmas tree.

After that, things seemed simple enough. Crookshanks leapt from the bed, brushed up against Black's ankles, purring loudly, and took point, leading them downstairs, to the entrance to the tunnel. Snape directed Pettigrew's unconscious form at wand-point, the glowing of his magical bindings illuminating the derelict house, the grim passage. Hermione partnered with Ron to help him down into the tunnel. Lupin ducked into the passage, and Black ushered Harry after him. They kept stride with each other, backs bent to navigate the low tunnel.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Sirius asked, keeping pace with Harry. "Turning Pettigrew in, I mean."

"You're free," Harry said, with a small smile.

"Yes… But also - I don't know if anyone ever mentioned… I'm your godfather."

"I know," Harry said. "I don't think people wanted me to know, I only found out because -"

"Because?"

"Well…the Weasley twins gave me the Marauders' Map so I could sneak into Hogsmeade and meet Ron and Hermione…" He lowered his voice, uncertain whether Snape could hear every word he was saying. "…it was snowing, so we went to the Three Broomsticks. Except we didn't realise it was the teachers' last day of term, too… Fudge was there, and the professors started talking… That's when I learned about you knowing my mum and dad, about being my dad's Best Man, about being their Secret Keeper. Hagrid reckons you and my dad were like brothers. They said you're my godfather…"

"Your reaction earlier isn't quite so surprising, if that's how you learned about all this," Sirius sighed. A smile flickered across his face. "Although Prongs would've loved that you snuck out of school to go to the pub! …You know, your parents appointed me your guardian. If anything happened to them…"

Harry waited with baited breath. Did Sirius mean what he thought he meant?

"I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle," Sirius said, "But…well…think about it. Once my name is cleared…if you wanted a…a different home…"

Some sort of explosion happened in the pit of Harry's stomach.

"What - live with you?" he blurted, cracking his head on the roof of the tunnel. "Leave the Dursleys?"

"Of course, I thought you wouldn't want to," Sirius said quietly. "I understand. I just thought I'd - "

"Are you mad?" Harry croaked. "Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?" Sirius turned right around to look at Harry.

"You want to?" he said. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it!" Harry grinned.

Sirius' gaunt face broke into the first true smile Harry had seen upon it. The difference it made was startling. Harry was stunned to see, briefly, the handsome young man who had laughed at his parents' wedding. Azkaban had not taken all his looks; vestiges of how handsome Sirius had once been still clung on, and he wondered if time, sunshine and good food might mend some of the damage prolonged exposure to the Dementors had wrought on him.

"Who is Ellaria Scamander?" he asked, too curious not to blurt it out. He only knew the surname, from his _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ textbook.

"Ellaria was… _is_ …your godmother," Sirius said heavily. "She was a couple of years ahead of James, Remus and me at school… She trained at the Auror Academy during the War…Moony tells me she's free-lance, and travels the world hunting Dark Wizards…"

"I have a godmother, too?"

"Yes," Sirius said, with a sad look on his face. "Harry…are there any Scamanders in your class?"

"Er…I dunno… I don't think so. I didn't know I had a godmother too."

Sirius sighed. "There's good reason you don't know about Ellaria…"

Lupin glanced over his shoulder, falling back, and he nodded Harry onwards, so that he could speak with Sirius. Over the sounds of the others navigating the low passage, Harry strained to hear the low murmur of the two men's conversation…

"…not until Rigel was five…they were in Bulgaria…"

"…are they now?"

"Bolivia…or was it Ghana? She's taken them all over the world with her, Sirius. Working," Lupin said softly. "They send letters, almost weekly sometimes, when they're excited about something. They always return for December, though…at least the children do."

"The children don't go to school here?"

"No. Ellaria prefers to home-school them, and with good reason," Lupin said. "Maia surpassed N.E.W.T. standards when she was ten. She's _bright_ , Sirius. Creative. A bit mad. And Raja…"

"Raja and Maia? All the arguments over names…" A soft chuckle, almost an alien sound.

"I remember them well."

Harry felt eyes on the back of his neck, but didn't want them to think he was listening. Black said, very quietly, "What are they like?"

"Vibrant, and eccentric," Lupin said thoughtfully. "Ellaria's nurtured a love of _learning_ , of words and culture and curiosity. They are kind, considerate, curious children with open-minds and giant hearts and…and they adore each other."

"Friends," Black grunted softly. He sighed.

" _Best_ friends," Lupin said.

"A shame they didn't come to Hogwarts. I'm surprised Ell didn't send them."

"Rigel would certainly like to go, I think, and be with other boys…but Maia… She would chafe at the structure. Ellaria lays the foundations for their education but gives them the freedom to research, to create experiments, to learn, without limitations… Maia would be bored. And when she's not wholly engaged, she tends toward self-destruction. Too like you… As for Rigel…"

The two men, Harry realised, had fallen behind, because he could no longer hear their murmured conversation; he maintained his pace, keeping up with the bobbing light of Hermione's wand ahead, remembering to light his own only as he stumbled in the dark and cracked his head again.

Harry's godfather wanted him to live with him!

He grinned to himself in the dark, imagining the looks on the Dursleys' faces when he told them he was moving in with the escaped convict they had seen on the 8 O'clock News.

The Whomping Willow was still as a statue when Harry clambered up; Crookshanks stood by the knot, flicking his tail; he purred loudly at the sight of Sirius, brushed up against his legs once, and trotted off, leading the way.

Harry had never been part of a stranger party. Crookshanks leading, Pettigrew lighting up the grounds like an absurd Christmas tree, Ron and Hermione hobbling like entrants in a three-legged race, Professor Lupin bringing up the rear as Harry walked with his godfather, a convicted criminal who had escaped from an inescapable prison. The only light came from Pettigrew and from the windows of the castle, tiny but jewel-bright.

They all had a lot to think about, and walked in silence around the edge of the lake toward the school, with the occasional grunt of pain from Ron. The lake rippled gently, the giant squid waving its tentacles above the water in the moonlight…

 _Moonlight_ \- The clouds shifted, and suddenly their party was bathed in silvery-white moonlight. The moon hung low, full, and vibrantly beautiful, casting hazy shadows across the grounds, distorting everything eerily.

Sirius froze. His eyes were on Ron and Hermione, staggering ahead with Snape and the captive Pettigrew. He flung an arm out to stop Harry.

Because Lupin had gone rigid.

Harry could see Lupin's silhouette. His face was raised to the moonlight, his entire body thrumming, and Harry saw, for a brief moment, that the professor's eyes had turned amber, lupine.

Lupin had told them it was very painful to turn into a werewolf. Now, Harry saw the truth. They all did; at the noise of snapping bones and groans of pain, the panted breaths of someone undergoing physical torture, Hermione and Ron and Snape all turned to watch as Lupin buckled, his legs breaking… It was awful, watching.

"Harry…go and join your friends. Run. Now!" Sirius whispered. "Get back up to the school and stay there."

Mesmerised, they watched Professor Lupin endure something beyond description, truly horrifying.

"Harry - _go_!" In an instant, Sirius had transformed into the giant black dog; he barrelled toward Lupin, now shuddering with the force of his growls, flashing eyes locked on Hermione and Ron.

Sirius leapt forward, fangs flashing as they locked around the werewolf's neck, dragging him away. Harry darted forward, fumbling with his wand, his hands freezing.

It was horrible, watching Sirius and the werewolf fighting tooth and claw as Sirius dragged the werewolf away. The viciousness was unparalleled, and Harry couldn't help wonder whether Sirius would scar as a man, with the damage Lupin inflicted on him as a dog.

"Potter!" Snape hissed, and Harry glanced over his shoulder. He ran to his friends, keeping his wand handy, and flinched when Snape brandished his wand like a whip. Something silver shot out of the tip, glowing vibrantly, darting away before Harry's eyes could adjust to the brightness - a Patronus, something with long, elegant legs. The Patronus streaked away, toward the castle, a shooting-star in the darkness.

In spite of the werewolf on the loose, they made slow goings, mostly due to Ron's broken leg, but also because of the rough terrain and lack of visibility. The clouds had shifted again, obscuring the moon. Snape wouldn't let them light their wands, and obscured Pettigrew with some kind of spell that dimmed the glowing shackles and cords of light, just in case the light drew Lupin back. Harry switched places with Hermione, to give her a break, and they trudged determinedly up to the school.

Far off in the distance, they heard a wolf howl. Harry shivered. Not long later, they heard footfalls, large paws thundering on the ground.

Seconds later, Sirius the man appeared in a sliver of moonlight. He was bleeding and panting.

"Moony's deep in the forest," he told them, "where there's plenty to hunt."

"Are you alright?"

"I've come out of worse scrapes than this," Sirius chuckled softly. "Here, Harry, let me take over." Surprisingly strong for a man as emaciated as he was, Sirius wrapped Ron's arm around his shoulders, helping him balance.

They almost didn't notice the cold.

It crept into his lungs, and Harry shuddered, blinking away the fog that seemed to have crept into his eyes, trying to tune out the screaming. He raised his hand, rubbing his eyes, and shook his head, trying to dislodge the ringing. His breath caught in his throat.

His breath plumed in front of him, cold leaching into his bones, settling deep in his marrow.

" _Nooo_ …" The moan came from up ahead, from Sirius, who swayed, shuddering, his breaths coming in shallow bursts. Ron swayed and fell with a loud _thump_ as Sirius fell to his knees, hands clasped over his head. " _Nooooo…please…_ "

There had to be a hundred of them, swarming toward them, a solid wall of impenetrable blackness, obscuring everything around them. Dementors. His hands shaking from the cold, his vision blurry and the ringing in his ears once more, Harry gripped his wand. Ron was whimpering in pain on the ground, Hermione's wide eyes shone in the moonlight, and Harry glanced over at Snape, who looked as stern and resolute as ever, his wand held high, Pettigrew seemingly drifting of his own accord to the castle, still glowing softly in the dark. Harry saw the front doors swing open to admit Pettigrew, still bound.

"Expecto Patronum!" He wasn't the only one who said it, wasn't the only one trying to cling to the very best memories he had. "Hermione! Think of something happy! The happiest memory you have! Expecto Patronum! _Expecto Patronum_!" He planted himself between Ron and Sirius, shaking his head to dislodge the fog, refusing to listen to his mother's voice, refusing to think that, if he just let it in, he'd hear his dad, too. The Marauders, together again, in the Hogwarts grounds, where it had all begun.

 _I'm going to live with Sirius! He's innocent. I'm going to go and live with him. I never have to go back to the Dursleys!_ He forced himself to think of Sirius, and only Sirius, and began to chant, "Expecto Patronum! _Expecto Patronum_ …"

Black gave a shudder, rolled over and lay motionless on the grass beside Ron, who was shivering and looked pale as death in the glow of Snape's Patronus vapour. Hermione whimpered, and collapsed with a _thump_. The Dementors were closing in, barely ten feet from them. They formed a solid wall around Harry and Snape, were getting closer…

Beside him, Snape had raised his wand, was murmuring the same incantation. A ghostly form appeared, tall and elegant but intangible as smoke, and started to canter around them all, forcing the Dementors to halt. Its presence seemed to pour strength and comfort into him like a hot cup of tea, and he gripped his wand tighter, determined to do his part.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he bellowed, trying to block his mother's screams. "Stop it, Mum!" He felt Snape bristle beside him, as he kneaded his head. The intangible shape glowing as it cantered around them faltered, disappeared.

"No! _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" A thin wisp of silver mist appeared and hovered like mist before him, nothing compared to even Snape's incorporeal Patronus. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " The effect of the Dementors hit him like a Basilisk tail to the sternum, crippling him; beside him, Snape collapsed to the ground with a loud _thump_. Panting, Harry tried to hold on to the idea of living with Sirius - _He's going to be okay, I'm going to live with him!_ "Expecto Patronum!"

He sank to his knees, panting and sweating, exhausted. By the feeble light of his Patronus, he saw one Dementor pause, very near to him. It couldn't walk through the cloud of silver mist Harry had conjured. A dead, slimy hand slid out from under the cloak, made a gesture as if to sweep the mist away.

"No - _no_ \- " Harry gasped. "He's innocent…expecto - expecto patronum…"

He could feel them watching him, hear their rattling breath like an evil wind around them. The nearest Dementor seemed to be considering something. Then it raised both its rotting hands - and lowered its hood. Harry tried to scream, couldn't.

Where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, grey, scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth - a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death-rattle.

A paralysing terror filled Harry as nothing ever had. His Patronus flickered and died. He collapsed over Ron. White fog was blinding him, and he was paralysed to scream, to react, to do anything but grip Sirius' arm tightly as scabbed hands reached for his godfather, lifting him by his shoulders…the sound of the death-rattle grew so loud it pained his ears, as the Dementors joined in a frenzy.

" _Noooooo_!"

Violent blue-white light exploded, illuminating everything in furious detail; the Dementors…were _fleeing_. The air was growing warm again, the sucking sounds of the Dementors were fading, and Sirius sighed weakly beside him, as Ron shuddered and Snape twitched and even unconscious, Hermione whimpered.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Harry raised his head a few inches and saw an animal amidst the light, galloping around them once, twice, and paused, as someone approached, their features distorted by shadows and light cast by the Patronus. Eyes blurred with sweat, he tried to make out what animal the Patronus was…something huge, and antlered…he got only the impression of skinniness and untidy black hair from the person, as he struggled to remain conscious.

He looked strangely familiar…but he couldn't be…

The figure reached for Sirius, trying to jostle him awake. Hooves thundered toward them, and over the noise, Harry barely heard a low voice said, " _Padfoot_ …"

Harry didn't understand. He didn't want to think anymore. The last of his strength left him, and Harry collapsed.

* * *

 **A.N.** : So Pettigrew was caught; and Sirius escaped being Kissed by the Dementors. I wondered, how different might things have been if Pettigrew had been discovered as the traitor. Also I was hugely inspired, I think everyone was, by Theseus and Leta. Regardless of the upcoming films which will no doubt explore Leta's past and Theseus' future, I've already decided that Theseus becomes the wizard-equivalent of Winston Churchill later in life, and resembles Charles Dance as Tywin Lannister in badassness, with that commanding voice.


	2. The Third Task

**A.N.** : So Ellaria Scamander is inspired by Lisa Bonet in looks, and by Oberyn Martell in dangerousness! The scars are my own addition, and I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do.

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _The Third Task_

* * *

"…Harry, come on, they're waiting for you!" Cedric called, and Harry started, bewildered. Surely the Dursleys hadn't come to Hogwarts, had they?

The sound of voices enthusiastically talking - in numerous languages - drew Harry into the chamber. Inside, he saw Viktor Krum, talking in fluent Bulgarian with his parents, more enthusiastic than Harry had ever seen him; and Fleur Delacour, eyeing someone over her beautiful mother's shoulder as her portly, moustachioed father beamed, bouncing on the heels of his boots. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, waved to Harry as he wandered past, and he waved back. Cedric Diggory stood with his ruddy-faced father and his mother, who was talking to a young, very pretty woman in lilac-grey robes cut in an elegant 1930s style, her soft brown hair piled onto her head in a loose coil; she had beautiful eyelashes, a delicate flush to her cheeks, and ink stains on her thumb and forefinger. She carried a notepad and pencil - Harry recognised her as a reporter immediately. Talking to Cedric's mum, she nodded and frowned thoughtfully as she scribbled; she laughed suddenly, and Harry was struck by what a pretty smile she had. Cedric flushed at something his father said, which made Cedric cast an uncomfortable look toward Harry; the woman frowned delicately as she glanced over her shoulder at Harry, but didn't write anything down, giving Mr Diggory a cool look.

Since the moment he had first set foot inside Hogwarts, Harry had been under scrutiny; and after a year's worth of articles from Rita Skeeter, Harry was rather desensitised to curious eyes and scathing remarks.

Wandering past Krum and his family, giving Mrs Krum a polite smile and nod when she glanced at him, nudging her husband with her elbow, he saw, standing by the fireplace, Mrs Weasley, Bill and _Remus_.

They were smiling, and accompanied by a strange woman and an enormous bear-like black dog, who wagged his tail enthusiastically and launched himself at Harry, huge paws on Harry's shoulders. Harry laughed, staggering under Padfoot's weight.

"Surprise!" Mrs Weasley beamed, as Padfoot dropped to all fours, dragged away by a beaming Remus, who told him to behave in an undertone. Mrs Weasley leaned in to kiss Harry's cheek. "We thought we'd come to watch you, Harry."

"You alright?" asked Bill, grinning easily, shaking Harry's hand. "Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn't get the time off work. He said you were incredible against the Horntail." Harry noticed Fleur eyeing up Bill; apparently she had no aversion to long hair and be-fanged earrings.

"This is really nice of you…" Harry said, flabbergasted. He hadn't been expecting… He beamed as Remus Lupin approached, and grinned as he hugged his former professor and mentor. He had been writing to Professor Lupin - _Remus_ now, at his insistence - for the better part of a year, ever since he had left Hogwarts. Shortly before he had left the grounds, suitcase and Grindylow tank in hand, Padfoot wagging his tail and waiting at the Dementor-free gates for him, Lupin had made Harry promise to write to him, about anything and everything; and so Harry had. There wasn't a week that went by where Harry didn't receive a letter from Remus, and Harry liked to write to him; Remus hadn't been officially named his godfather, like Sirius had, but he took his adopted status as mentor and father-figure seriously.

In another life, Harry would have grown up with Remus as a favourite uncle, and he never forget that as he wrote to him.

Having Remus and Sirius was like having _parents_. Harry could tell them anything, and they always gave excellent advice.

But Harry hadn't been expecting to see Remus here, or Padfoot, not right under the Minister for Magic's nose, though, he supposed, Sirius would think it amusing to run around in full view, the last place anyone expected him to be, and Fudge's position was tenuous at best. While the international spotlight was on Britain due to the Triwizard Tournament, they needed to maintain the appearance of strength and stability, and that meant the Minister was in a very fragile position.

Even at Hogwarts, where they were sheltered from the real goings-on in the Wizarding world, they knew the truth: That in actual fact, things were unravelling. Thanks to a brand-new newspaper rivalling - and embarrassing - the _Daily Prophet_ with its content and the quality of its reporters, Harry knew there was a quiet revolution going on across Britain.

The revelation about Peter Pettigrew's betrayal had shaken the nation. Sirius Black's innocence had turned the Ministry on its head: It had ripped open wounds people believed had mended with the defeat of Lord Voldemort. In no time at all, public outcry and intense scrutiny had turned into full-scale enquiries and 'Ministry restructuring'; tension had escalated to duels within the Ministry and widely-publicised destruction in Knocturn Alley in one of several riots against Dark magic and those who were still permitted, by obscure pro-pureblood laws, to purvey its relics; and never before had there been such vicious backlash against Ministry legislation Fudge and his followers had attempted to push through the Wizengamot - legislation which protected purebloods and simultaneously stripped part- or non-humans of their rights, lands and votes, and attempted to place Muggle-borns and half-bloods under scrutiny and absurd restrictions.

Pettigrew's escape from Ministry custody had humiliated Fudge.

The incompetence of the Ministry, historical miscarriages of justice and Fudge's inability to confirm any progress had been made with regards to open missing-persons cases had him under a lot of pressure, and many in the Wizarding community were calling into question Fudge's effectiveness as Minister.

According to Hermione, it was a powder-keg, and only a spark was needed to ignite it.

The only Ministry Departments not making their collective stance known were the Department of Mysteries, an obscure Department no-one knew the true workings of, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which included the Wizengamot and the Auror Office.

With his focus on the Tournament - and staying _alive_ \- and his near-constant headaches and visions of Voldemort, Harry…simply didn't have the time or energy to devote to worrying about the Ministry. Hermione fretted enough for the three of them; Ron wondered whether his dad might get a promotion or even his own dedicated Office out of the 'restructuring'.

For the moment, Fudge was still clinging to power by his fingertips: But he appeared harried and short-tempered and Harry remembered the argument he had overheard between Fudge and Professor Dumbledore. He was unravelling, and his true character was becoming known. Fudge was becoming _nasty_.

After the revelation of Peter Pettigrew's true allegiance, the Wizengamot had had to concede that Sirius Black's case be reopened by the Auror Office, and there were many flaming cheeks, embarrassed over the criminal misconduct. They were getting pressure from the International Confederation of Warlocks: Sirius wasn't the only person thrown into Azkaban without trial after the abrupt and unexpected defeat of Lord Voldemort. And after the story of the hundred-odd Dementors running rampant on Hogwarts grounds, in spite of Ministry reassurance to parents, the Ministry's use of Dementors was being called into question.

Still, Harry was anxious about Sirius being back on school grounds. There were no longer Dementors floating about, but Mad-Eye Moody was a famous Dark Wizard catcher and Sirius hadn't officially been exonerated; Hermione was of the opinion that, to preserve their own dignity and cover their backsides, the Ministry would drag it out as long as feasibly possible. One of the fundamental flaws of human-nature was the inability to admit when mistakes had been made. So Sirius existed in a sort of half-life, the greater wizarding community accepting of and supporting the evidence of his innocence, but unable to wander down Diagon Alley at his leisure due to the institution of the Ministry refusing to publically acknowledge its role in imprisoning an innocent man.

Still, the public knew what Harry did; that Sirius had never betrayed Lily and James, that he was innocent, and that he had escaped Azkaban to _protect_ Harry.

"Harry…" Lupin released him, smiling. He looked happier and not nearly as thin and tired as Harry remembered him, though his hair was still streaked with grey. He was wearing the new robes Harry had gifted him for Christmas; Hermione had helped pick them out, and she and Ron had sent Remus a variety box of sweets and chocolates from Honeydukes and a card signed by most of the students who still held Remus as their favourite teacher. Harry was fairly sure Hermione was writing to Remus independently, asking for tips on homework assignments - and counter-curses and spells Harry might need in the Third Task.

"I had no idea you'd be here," he grinned. "Wait 'til everyone sees you're back! Professor Moody's good, but his lessons aren't like yours." Remus chuckled.

"I'm glad you've got Alastor Moody teaching you this year," he said, smiling, "if anyone can teach you what you need to get through this last Task in one piece, it's Mad-Eye. Weren't you one of his, Ellaria?"

The woman at the fireplace drifted forward, her movements as elegant and beguilingly unassuming as a predator. Harry was simultaneously mesmerised and repulsed by her appearance. With skin the colour of honeyed cocoa and beautiful bone-structure, her molasses-brunette hair was thrown carelessly over one shoulder in skinny dreadlocks past her waist, and her hair was over one shoulder, Harry saw, because the right side of her head was shaved above her ear, revealing three old, wicked, puckered pinkish scars, one of which had slashed across her eye and nose, leaving her blind in that eye, her iris foggy white and eerie. The other eye was beetle-black and sharp, and seemed to hold the cosmos in its depths, dark and glittering. She wore unusual jewellery and her clothing would not have looked out of place on a grungy punk-hippie fashion-show catwalk, her trousers of dragon-hide and her sleeveless fluffy black vest embroidered with colourful beads and threads and ancient coins that chimed and sang as she moved. Intricate tattoos were inked on her bare, scarred arms, and on her hands and wrists, which were decorated with unusual bracelets dangling with sea-shells and silver things that glinted, one thick bracelet made of a boar tusk tipped with silver, her rings set with onyx, opals and bone. She wore a necklace from which a wicked talon dangled, tipped with silver; beneath it, her breastbone was tattooed with colourful runes that dipped below the neckline of her sheer black blouse.

She was stunningly beautiful and scarred; and Harry got the impression of coolness drifting from her, as if she would always be the calmest person in the room - and the most dangerous.

"Harry…this is Ellaria Scamander, your godmother. We thought it was about time that you two met," Remus said, smiling warmly at the woman. She was…and there was no other way to describe her… _cool_. There was something edgy, almost disdainful, and utterly unapologetic about her. She looked severe and dangerous, especially with the scars, and the milky white eye - but the moment her lips twitched into a smile, her entire face warmed up. She was beautiful, so beautiful the scars went unnoticed; warmth radiated from her, and she approached Harry, cupping his face tenderly with her elegant, ringed fingers, and rested her forehead against his. It was unnerving, being so close to a stranger, especially one with mismatched eyes that gazed unblinkingly at him. It was unnervingly intimate.

"Your mum would be vomiting with worry, even as she'd be proud you've come this far," she declared, and her voice was as rich and sharp as the rest of her. For some reason, Harry had expected a sultry accent from an exotic foreign country, but her voice was crisp upper-class English. Her beautiful plump lips twitched into another smile, this one touched with sadness. "But your dad… He would've likely been responsible for hoodwinking the Goblet of Fire to enter your name - if not his own! The Triwizard Tournament…" She winked that blind milky eye, and Harry stifled a shudder, still unused to her shocking appearance - the contradiction of intense beauty and horrifying damage scarred onto her face.

Stepping back, Harry's godmother smiled sadly. "You do look ever so like James…but Moony tells me you've more of Lily's nature… I'm very sorry we haven't met until now, Harry."

"I didn't know I had a godmother," Harry said in an undertone, the others quite forgotten. This was _Ellaria Scamander_ …Harry's godmother. She sighed heavily, shaking her head. Her dreadlocks and tiny braids swayed.

"You were born into a world very different from the one you re-joined when you came to Hogwarts," she said sadly, her expression sorrowful. Lines fanned from the corners of her eyes, as if, despite her severe, cool appearance, she spent a lot of time laughing, and when she smiled sadly, those lines deepened. They made her look, if possible, more beautiful. "If it would have been best for you, I would have taken you in after your parents died, in a heartbeat, regardless of whatever else was going on." She exchanged a sorrowful look with Remus. Changing the subject, Ms Scamander asked him, "How do you feel about the Third Task, Harry?"

"Er…well, I've been working on as many spells and counter-curses as I can," he said anxiously.

"What've you been focusing on?" Ms Scamander asked. She smiled at the look on his face. "I'm an Auror, I don't know if Remus has told you…" So he told Ms Scamander what he, Ron and Hermione had been working on; Mrs Weasley seemed satisfied that at the very least, Ron was getting in some good practice for his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, and Remus listened and nodded, and they were still laughing over a story Bill told them about an ineffective Shield Charm that had unintended and very uncomfortable side-effects in a tomb in Egypt, when the reporter Harry had seen talking to the Diggorys appeared.

"Uh - Harry, this is Ziggy Wodehouse," Bill said, grinning fondly, as he gave the woman a one-armed hug.

"Hullo, Bill," she smiled warmly, embracing him. She reached up and flicked the fang dangling from his earring. "I like _this_. What on earth are you doing here?"

"Came to see Harry in the Third Task, same as everyone," Bill grinned easily. He glanced around the room. "Been making the rounds, Zig?"

"I've made a start," Ms Wodehouse said, raising her notepad, and she smiled around at them all. She jumped at the sight of Ellaria Scamander. " _Ell_?!"

"Hello, Ziggy."

"Do you two know each other?" Bill asked, looking highly surprised.

"Ellaria got me out of a pretty hair-raising situation in the Democratic Republic of the Congo a couple of years ago," Ms Wodehouse told Bill sombrely.

"The Congo? …That wasn't when you were reporting on the child-soldiers?"

"It was," Ms Wodehouse confirmed, nodding. Bill glanced at Harry.

"Ziggy's a reporter, Harry, and a heavyweight activist," he explained. "I'm surprised you're here, Ziggy."

"I'm reporting for _The Phoenix_ now," Ms Wodehouse said, smiling. "I've been given complete freedom, and _resources_."

"You've never had those before," Bill said, looking impressed. "People who'll stop you getting hexed, I hope?"

"I work by the same principal Aurors do," Ms Wodehouse intoned to Harry. "If I don't incur curses, I'm not getting to the good stuff." She glanced at Harry, looking contrite, and Bill rolled his eyes, amused. "I know you're likely sick to death of reporters, after the harassment from Rita Skeeter, Harry, but if you wouldn't mind answering a few questions? I'm interviewing all the Champions, just about what you've enjoyed, what you've learned while training for the Tournament, about yourself, what your aspirations are. Have you spent much time with the foreign representatives? That sort of thing."

"Er…I suppose," Harry said uncomfortably.

"You don't seem keen," Ms Wodehouse laughed easily. "Five minutes, I swear it'll be painless. And then you can enjoy the rest of the day."

"Alright," Harry agreed hesitantly. Ms Wodehouse smiled, her eyes twinkling.

"So, who's come to see you today?"

"Well…you know Bill…and Ms Scamander. This is Remus Lupin; he was our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor last year, and he's the best teacher we've ever had," Harry beamed. "He taught me how to produce a Patronus."

"A - a Patronus? Really? That's N.E.W.T.-level magic. I still struggle with it," Ms Wodehouse said, gazing curiously at him.

"Well, it was… I have a reaction to Dementors," Harry said, flushing.

"Don't we all?" Ms Wodehouse said grimly. "They were stationed at Hogwarts last year, I heard." She glanced up at Remus, who nodded solemnly. "Well, I'm impressed. A Patronus is advanced magic - is that why you entered?"

"Ziggy -" Bill warned, frowning at her, but the young-woman ignored him.

"I didn't enter. I don't know how my name ended up coming out of the Goblet of Fire, because I didn't put it there!" Harry blurted, glancing at the others, feeling flushed.

"It would take very complicated magic to interfere with a powerful magical object like the Goblet of Fire…"

"Well, then, I definitely didn't do it, because I can't do anything like that. The Patronus Charm's the hardest thing I can do! I'm only good at Quidditch and getting detention and performing the Patronus Charm."

"Have you enjoyed anything about the Tournament?" Ms Wodehouse asked suddenly, looking amused.

"Well…not really. I didn't enjoy thinking I was going to be eaten by a dragon; I _definitely_ didn't enjoy swimming in the lake or seeing Ron and Hermione under the enchantment…" Ms Wodehouse chuckled at his deadpan expression, and her pretty features softened as she saw the shiver flit across Harry's face at the memory of Ron and Hermione, surrounded by merpeople. "I suppose it's been good learning new spells we haven't covered in Defence Against the Dark Arts yet."

"What about the Yule Ball?" Ms Wodehouse asked, smiling.

"That was worse than being in the lake." She laughed.

"You don't like dancing?"

"I prefer Quidditch."

"You certainly captivated the audience during the First Task. I've heard you play for your House."

"Yeah, we won the Cup last year for the first time since - well, since Charlie Weasley left Hogwarts," Harry said proudly, grinning at Bill. "But - they cancelled the Tournament this year."

"Would you have preferred the Quidditch Cup to the Triwizard Cup?"

"I think - if they could've had both, then I could play Quidditch and just watch Cedric in the Triwizard Tournament," Harry said earnestly. "I shouldn't be in the Tournament; I don't know why I am. I'd rather be playing Quidditch."

"Do you follow a particular team?" Ms Wodehouse asked.

"Not really; my best-friend Ron loves the Chudley Cannons. Last summer Mr Weasley got tickets to the World Cup; we saw Viktor Krum play in the final against Ireland!" he said enthusiastically. "I didn't know people could _fly_ like that!"

"That sounds like a little bit of hero-worship, Harry."

"He was brilliant! After the First Task, Krum said _I_ fly very well!" Harry grinned, and Ms Wodehouse laughed at his expression.

"I've heard that your father was a keen Quidditch-player."

"He was a Chaser."

"Does it get to you, Harry…that everyone you meet seems to know your parents, better than you do?"

"People tell me I look just like my dad…but I have my mum's eyes. I don't remember them."

"Today, the families of the Champions were invited to watch the Third Task… Were you surprised to see Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ms Scamander and Remus Lupin?"

"I didn't expect anyone to be here," Harry admitted, shrugging. "I thought I would just get some more practice in, as I don't have to sit end-of-year exams."

"What's your relationship like with Remus Lupin, and the Weasleys?" Ms Wodehouse asked.

"Well…Remus was best-friends with my dad when they were at school; he was my teacher last year. He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had. We've been writing to each other, he gives me advice and helps me with some of my homework," Harry said. "I met Ron Weasley on the Hogwarts Express, but Mrs Weasley told me how to get onto the platform, because I didn't know how… She sent me a green hand-knitted jumper and homemade fudge my first Christmas at Hogwarts. I've been to stay with the Weasleys a couple of times since. They're brilliant."

"Does Mrs Weasley send you an Easter egg?" Ms Wodehouse asked, and Harry stared at her, before nodding.

"Yeah…"

"When I was going out with Bill, I got homemade mince-pies and an Easter egg _stuffed_ to bursting with toffees. I won't tell you what Mrs Weasley sent when I dumped him," Ziggy said, pulling a face, and Harry grinned. "But I never got a Christmas jumper…you're really part of the family… What about Ellaria Scamander?"

"She's my godmother, but I only just met her, today."

"Well, with recent events I'm sure you've experienced a few changes in your life," Ms Wodehouse said succinctly. "The case being reopened against Sirius Black, your godfather. It's widely known he escaped Azkaban to protect you..."

"Yeah…"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to try and delve," Ms Wodehouse smiled, "no matter how curious we all are. But it seems like you've got quite a number of decent people stepping in for your parents, giving you guidance and support."

"I have, now," Harry nodded, agreeing, giving Remus and Mrs Weasley a grin. He thought Mrs Weasley's eyes were glinting with tears, but he blinked and they were gone, and Ms Wodehouse was asking him another question.

"I've been asking what the other Champions aspire to, once the Tournament ends, but you're in a different position than the others; Fleur Delacour will be leaving school this summer, and is hoping to remain in England to hone her language skills; Viktor Krum obviously has his Quidditch career, though he seems to have taken a great interest in Hogwarts. He mentioned he has a younger cousin he desperately wants to attend Hogwarts, perhaps he'll start while you're still here, Harry. Cedric Diggory has his seventh and final year at Hogwarts to complete his N.E.W.T. exams…but you've not yet sat your O.W.L.s. What do you hope the future will hold for you, Harry?"

"Well…the only thing I've really ever thought of doing is becoming an Auror," Harry confessed.

"Not a Quidditch star?"

"I don't think so," Harry said, frowning. He grinned, "I'm definitely not as good as Krum. The first time we won a match, I almost swallowed the Snitch!" Ziggy laughed.

"So who will be cheering you on tonight, Harry?"

"Er, well, besides Bill and Mrs Weasley, and Remus and Ms Scamander - Ron and Hermione, my best-friends, definitely. They've been helping me train for weeks," Harry said. "And Gryffindor House is always brilliant, whether it's the Triwizard Tournament or the Quidditch Cup."

"There seems to be some tension between Gryffindor House and Hufflepuff, owing to there being two champions."

"I don't blame them; Cedric's the first person to bring Hufflepuff glory in ages," Harry said, shrugging. "Gryffindor's won the House cup for three years running…and last year when I fell off my broom because of the Dementors, Cedric caught the Snitch but wanted a rematch, said it was fair… I think Cedric could win."

"Not you?"

"I'll give it my best," Harry said uncertainly, "but the others have got years on me."

"They don't have your experience," Ms Wodehouse said thoughtfully. "What goes on at Hogwarts is a complete secret - so everyone knows, of course! The Philosopher's Stone…ending the Basilisk attacks on Muggle-borns…your integral part in capturing Peter Pettigrew… Objectively speaking, and off the record, I'd say you're leaps and bounds ahead of the others when it comes to practical application of your skill."

"Will you be cheering me on with Bill?"

"Oh, no, Harry, I'm a Hufflepuff! It's Diggory all the way for me!" Ziggy laughed, winking. Harry smiled, deciding he liked Ziggy Wodehouse _much_ more than Rita Skeeter. Being interviewed by her felt like just talking. He wondered what she'd write about him. "One last thing, Harry…I hope you don't mind - I've got pictures of all the other Champions with their families. Please?"

"Oh, if you insist," Mrs Weasley flushed, and started fussing with her hair.

"Mum, don't fuss, you look fine!" Bill chuckled easily. "Everyone will be more concerned with my long hair and the dirty great fang dangling from my ear!"

"Well…very true, dear," Mrs Weasley said, giving her eldest son a look. From inside her pocket, Ms Wodehouse pulled a battered Muggle camera, winding on the film, and Mrs Weasley took the time to fuss over Harry's appearance, fruitlessly dragging a comb through his hair, straightening his robes, as Remus looked on, smiling indulgently. The four adults grouped around Harry, Mrs Weasley and Remus flanking him with Bill and Ms Scamander either side - Mrs Weasley dragging Ms Scamander into the frame despite her protests - and Sirius sat back on his haunches beside him; Harry smiled, and the picture was taken. Not nearly as painful as the _Daily Prophet_ 's photographer.

"Thank you," Ms Wodehouse beamed. "Well, enjoy your day, Harry - and _good luck_!"

"You didn't tell me Ziggy was back?" Mrs Weasley said immediately, as soon as the pretty reporter had drifted off to join the Krum family, making a halting attempt at Bulgarian.

"I didn't know," Bill said, watching Ziggy Wodehouse. He caught the look on his mother's face. " _Mum_ , she's far too busy chasing down the 'lions of injustice', travelling all over the world…"

"There is buried treasure all over the world, Bill," Mrs Weasley said pointedly. "With your talents, you could go anywhere you wanted."

"I'm not going to chase after someone who doesn't want me to chase her," Bill said stubbornly.

"All women want to be chased by someone who's interested in them, Bill," Mrs Weasley said disparagingly. Harry caught Remus' eye, and they set off, Sirius bounding down the length of the House tables, his delighted barks echoing around the Entrance Hall. Mrs Weasley and Bill were still arguing about Ziggy Wodehouse as they entered the grounds; before long, Mrs Weasley was in discussion with Remus about Ron and Ginny and the twins' performance during his tenure as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Bill seemed to be soaking in every bit of Hogwarts he had missed in the years since he had left the school; but Harry noticed that Ms Scamander looked grim as she stared around, as if she was the only one not happy to return to Hogwarts.

"Um…is it alright if I ask why you came today?" Harry asked quietly.

Ms Scamander squinted at him in the sunlight; she had to turn her head fully, as he walked at her right side, her blind eye. He wondered briefly why she didn't get a replacement like Mad-Eye's. And then he flushed, embarrassed that he hadn't thought to walk on her other side. "Dumbledore has a gut-instinct, and in spite of everything, when he's worried, I take notice. Today is the last chance someone has to get to you."

Harry's stomach cramped. "Remus said you're a freelance Auror."

"That's right. I'm not affiliated to any one particular institution; I go where I'm needed. Usually where others don't want to go," Ms Scamander said.

Harry blurted, unthinkingly, "Are all Aurors as scarred as you and Professor Moody?"

Ms Scamander chuckled richly, and her entire face transformed, suddenly hardly intimidating at all. She had a beautiful white smile, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Only the good ones. The ones who don't end up with scars are dead."

"Oh."

"I'm very interested to hear that you've been thinking about becoming an Auror. It's not so surprising, given your background…although it's appalling someone so young _has_ a background." She shook her head. He frowned, remembering something that Ziggy Wodehouse had said.

"There are wizard child-soldiers in the Congo?"

"I'm afraid so. It's criminal," Ms Scamander sighed heavily. "I'm not a person easily shocked, Harry, but…the Congo _shocked_ me… Realising that you are battling against children who haven't even reached double-digits… Being an Auror isn't just about defeating Lord Voldemort - there's far out there worse than him."

"Worse than Voldemort?"

"Everything is relative, Harry… Which is worse, a Dark wizard who kills everyone, or a witch who convinces brothers to turn on each other, mothers to give up their children to fight for a cause they never believed in to begin with, turns an entire culture on its head?" Ms Scamander sighed, looking suddenly as tired as Lupin. "It's at times like that…when just catching _one_ Dark wizard isn't enough…when you could get very despondent about your life's work."

"Do you - get despondent?"

"I try not to allow myself the luxury," Ms Scamander said. She looked Harry right in the eye, and Harry felt like he had been turned into a statue, unable to move or even to look away. "It's ten times harder to put yourself back together again than to fall apart." He nodded, not truly understanding, and they walked on in silence for a few minutes. Ms Scamander glanced at him. "Tell me about your friends, Harry. Ron and Hermione were their names, yes?"

Harry had a thoroughly enjoyable morning. In the sunshine, enjoying a gentle breeze, he gave a tour of the grounds: Mrs Weasley was fascinated by the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after her time at the school, and Harry noticed Ellaria listening closely as Remus grudgingly told the story of the unveiling of Peter Pettigrew. That her son Percy's pet rat was in fact an Animagus, and the traitorous, cowardly right-hand of Lord Voldemort, seemed to be taken as a personal insult by Mrs Weasley: Ellaria told Harry in an undertone as they walked around the lake that Mrs Weasley's two brothers, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, had been murdered by Death Eaters during the War. They had known and fought alongside Harry's parents, Sirius and Remus, among others.

Lunchtime saw them return to the Great Hall, where Ron and the twins were all flabbergasted - and unnerved - to see their mother sitting at the Gryffindor table, content that she didn't have to do the cooking. Padfoot allowed Ron and Hermione to scratch his ears, as Lee Jordan told Harry he had a "cool dog"; and half the school came over to say hello to Lupin, who listened to their news and dispensed thoughtful advice as Ms Scamander looked on, watching him with a wistful smile on her face. Ginny ran for Bill as soon as she saw him, elbowing Fred out of the way, and it felt almost like being back at The Burrow.

Harry wanted to tell Ron and Hermione what Mrs Weasley and Bill had mentioned about Percy being in trouble at the Ministry; and to ask whether Hermione was going to tell them about her brainwave this morning, when she had run off to the library. He didn't have time; and it was so noisy around them, with students constantly darting over to see Professor Lupin. Even some of the Slytherins made their way over, to general surprise.

After lunch, they whiled away the afternoon by going for another long walk. Padfoot played his part admirably, allowing Lupin to levitate sticks and tearing after them, barking joyously and gambolling around. If Harry didn't know any better, he might have thought Padfoot was… _flirting_ with Ellaria. She had given the enormous bear-like black dog a few curious, startled frowns the first time he bumped against her legs and licked her palm, and Harry glanced at Remus, wondering whether she knew the secret. Wondering about how Ms Scamander was his godmother, he asked her where she had met his parents.

"Oh, here, of course. Hogwarts… Lily was in the same year as my favourite sister, they were in the same House. She even came to stay with us, one summer, they were about fifteen…and of course, James and Sirius were closer than brothers, we were bound to become friendly during the War," Ellaria said, and Harry started.

"Er - Sirius…?"

Ellaria paused, her dreadlocked, braided hair swaying over her shoulder, glossy in the sunshine, as she gazed at him, with an almost birdlike tilt to her head.

"Did neither of them tell you?" she asked, and smiled to herself. "Harry, Sirius and I were married - _are_ … _Are_ married…"

Harry gaped. "You're -"

"Married." Ellaria nodded, sighing heavily. She gazed out over the lake, shimmering in the sunlight. When she glanced back at Harry, her expression was deeply wounded. "It's…part of the reason we've never met, Harry, not since you were a baby. Had things been different, I would have raised you. As it was…no-one was going to trust me with your life, not when all the evidence pointed to my husband having betrayed your parents."

"But he didn't."

"No. Whatever his faults, it has never been in Sirius' character to be disloyal. And James…he was one of the loves of Sirius' life." Harry raised his eyebrows, and her lips twitched, and her eyes warmed at a memory. They grew sad again. "He would have endured any torture the Death Eaters could devise, rather than give up your dad…as James would have for him….a trait you seem to have inherited, or so I've been led to believe. If your mum and dad would be proud of one thing, Harry, it's how lucky you have been in your friends - and how loyal you are to them."

Harry was spared trying to find something to say in response to that by Remus, who wandered over, asking Harry what spells he had learned for the Third Task; they spent the walk back to the castle practicing. Ellaria tested Harry's Seeker reflexes with some minor jinxes, which he deflected with his Shield Charm, and Ellaria and Bill, a curse-breaker by profession, commended Hermione's choice in counter-curses and charms to help him through the maze.

He was still reeling that Sirius had a _wife_ when they returned to the Great Hall; but he suddenly understood Ellaria's predatory stillness, the watchful fury in her face as she saw Cornelius Fudge at the top table, with the other judges. There was no sign of Percy, or of Barty Crouch; Bagman beamed and waved at Harry, giving him an encouraging thumbs-up, as Harry climbed into a seat at the Gryffindor table. The Weasleys gathered for another family meal, and Harry noticed a lot of pretty older girls trying to get closer to Bill, who ignored them in favour of talking quietly with Ziggy Wodehouse, who joined them.

Lupin still drew attention, kids bemoaning their Defence Against the Dark Arts exam questions, and wanting his opinion on whether their answers were satisfactory, but it was nice that Harry wasn't the centre of people's attention. There were more courses than usual, but Harry found himself losing his appetite almost entirely as the enchanted ceiling started darkening to a rich sapphire and then a luxurious deep plum, the stars twinkling beguilingly.

When Dumbledore stood, and asked the Champions to make their way to the Quidditch pitch with Mr Bagman, Harry found his legs had turned to lead. The riot that exploded like a bomb-blast at the Gryffindor table as he pushed to his feet was deafening, though not unexpected; he grinned sheepishly, and Mrs Weasley beamed with pride, as Bill shook his hand. Ellaria winked her blind eye and smiled; and Lupin stood, so Sirius could bump against Harry's legs and wag his tail before leaping up, enormous paws on Harry's shoulders. Those bright grey eyes pinned Harry's, as Sirius' tongue lolled, and Harry got a face-full of dog-breath before Remus frowned and nudged Sirius, warning him to "act more like a dog" in an undertone that Harry was pretty sure no-one heard, especially Sirius, due to the noise. Remus clasped him in a tight hug, very briefly, and smiled warmly before wishing him good luck.

Harry saw the solemn look he exchanged with Ellaria as he re-joined the table, and Harry tried to put it out of his mind that Ellaria was here because Dumbledore had a "gut feeling"; that Sirius, who had a _wife_ , had returned to the country because he had pieced together the clues and signs of Voldemort's increasing strength; that Percy was in trouble over Mr Crouch's disappearance; and Hermione might have figured out how Rita Skeeter knew Harry's scar kept hurting him.

* * *

They watched Harry enter the maze, the youngest and slightest of all the competitors.

In what felt like no time at all, Harry reappeared, clutching a cup. And a corpse.

* * *

 **A.N.** : It is the season of giving, after all, so I thought I'd upload a second chapter for you!


	3. Veritaserum

**A.N.** : So I was pinning a little too much Bucky Barnes when I was thinking about this story; and the result was that, in my mind, Sirius Black looks very like the Winter Soldier when he starts to shed the brainwashing. Tortured, long-haired, struggling with memory-loss and confusion, crippling grief and self-blame, but still good-looking…

I'm also loving the theory that Draco Malfoy is actually a werewolf, bitten by Greyback before his sixth year. I won't be pursuing that arc, but he will come to school with a mark of Voldemort's affection, just not a Dark Mark. I'm a big believer in Dramione - and in Hermione having a sibling.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, thank you for your continued leaps of faith - this must be the tenth time I've mentally revised _Pleiades_ and the third time (I think) I've rewritten it! I hope everyone enjoys a wonderful New Year, and an exciting 2019.

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Veritaserum_

* * *

It was chaos. Petrified children and grief-stricken adults swarmed onto the unrecognisable Quidditch pitch. Dumbledore's silver hair and beard glimmering in the moonlight, eerie in the light of sparks fired by Professor McGonagall, with a loud _BANG_ to startle people into silence.

He saw, briefly, a great bear-like black dog, no more than a shadow, tearing across the black lawn toward the castle.

"Ellaria - !" He caught her attention, and they both glanced around.

"Where's Mad-Eye?" Ellaria asked, her mismatched eyes narrowed shrewdly on Dumbledore. Remus glanced around, at the Diggorys, at the crying, frightened students, and started running toward the school barely paces behind Ellaria, realising - Harry was missing.

* * *

"- _now - I - conquer - you_!"

 _BOOM_.

A bear barrelled into the room, a great black shadow in the darkened room. Mad-Eye was too distracted, too slow; he buckled under the weight of the great black dog Harry knew as his godfather. A wand clattered to the ground; in an instant, Sirius the man stood, and had Stunned the grizzled, maddened Auror in a flash of blinding light, kicking the other wand out of reach. Sirius was panting, his body heaving with aggression and intent, and bigger and more menacing than Harry remembered him.

Harry, still staring at the place where Mad-Eye's face had been seconds before, saw familiar faces swimming clear as daylight in the Foe-Glass, glaring venomously down at the Stunned man.

"Harry," Sirius growled, reaching to grip his arm tightly. "I _knew_ something like this was going to - _What happened_?"

"It's him," Harry whispered, still in shock, staring unseeingly into his godfather's face, barely recognising the man in front of him. He couldn't feel any pain, though he was bleeding all over and bruised from his haphazard landing, from his time in the Maze, from being tortured and abused. He was aware his hands were shaking, only because he could see them doing so. "Sirius, Moody is Voldemort's - Voldemort's most loyal -"

"This isn't Moody, Harry," Sirius said gruffly. Sirius went still, glancing over his shoulder, and in an instant, the great black dog was back, hackles raised, fur on end, growling threateningly, and caging Harry's body behind him, waiting to attack whoever was thundering down the corridor.

The instant Lupin, Ellaria and Ziggy Wodehouse appeared, wands all drawn and looking murderous, with Professors Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall a second behind, Sirius stopped growling, lost all aggression, and sat draped over Harry, whose shaking hands went to his thick glossy fur, clutching tight, relief sweeping through him that there was no hooking sensation at his navel this time. Harry could feel Sirius' chest rising and falling, felt the warmth of his body, and the thunderous beating of his heart, and sat where he was, too shaken and confused to move.

"Harry!" Lupin gasped, relieved, and stalked to him, looping an arm around him in a fierce, brief hug. Harry noticed he was shaking, too, the lines in his face more pronounced.

"He's back," Harry whispered to him. "He's back, and Pettigrew did it. I should've let you k-kill him. Voldemort's back. It's my fault… Cedric's dead. Mad-Eye's a _Death Eater_."

The adults all had their wands drawn, and for the first time, Harry understood why Professor Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort had ever feared. There was no benign smile on his face, no twinkle in his intense blue eyes behind those winking half-moon spectacles. The look on his face as he glared down at Moody was more terrible than Harry could ever have imagined. Cold fury was written in every line on the ancient face. Power radiated from Dumbledore as if giving off burning heat.

Ellaria Scamander's mismatched eyes were locked on Moody, her face swimming in the Foe-Glass behind her, and Harry had never seen a woman look so like a bird of prey as she swooped down on the Auror, sharp and terrifying and predatory, bodily kicking him to his back. She reclaimed Mad-Eye's wand, and Harry watched, gaping, as she unflinchingly plucked the magical eye from Moody's face, detaching the leg, and checked a delicate pocket-watch on a silver chain before reaching inside Moody's robes, withdrawing a set of keys and handing Mad-Eye's hipflask to Professor Dumbledore.

He didn't hear what was said, but under her breath, Ellaria Scamander said something to Dumbledore as she handed him Moody's wand; Dumbledore answered, and Ellaria Scamander's shoulders knotted with tension, glowering over her shoulder at the Stunned man on the floor. She raised her wand, and Harry gasped softly as no fewer than four Patronuses appeared, filling the entire office with mesmerising blue-white light, a flock of enormous harpy-eagles, extraordinary and elegant. One by one, the Patronuses spread their wings and darted off, the same way Snape's had last summer, leaving the office much grimmer in their absence.

McGonagall went straight to Harry, the thin line of her mouth twitching as if she was about to cry. "Come along, Potter - off with you," she added to Sirius, who merely chuffed under his breath at her, not moving. "Hospital wing…"

"No." It was Dumbledore who spoke, and everyone turned to look at him, even Sirius, as Ellaria Scamander turned to the trunk.

"Dumbledore, he ought to - look at him - he's been through enough tonight -"

"He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand," Dumbledore said curtly. "Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why."

"Moody," Harry murmured, still dazed, his fingers spasming around Sirius' fur. "How can it have been Moody?"

"This is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore said quietly. He exchanged a sharp look with Ziggy Wodehouse, who nodded, and was now taking a notebook, fountain-pen and her Muggle camera out of a tiny handbag, sat at Moody's desk, the desk where the Auror had given Harry advice on how to handle the First Task, to defeat a dragon… "You have never know Alastor Moody, Harry."

"The real Moody would never have let you out of Dumbledore's sight," Ellaria Scamander said coldly, glaring down at the Stunned man. "Not after what you told him."

"Did he hurt you, Harry?" Lupin asked gently, and Harry shook his head, still in a state of shocked disbelief. His presence beside him, Sirius' warmth seeping through his body, were a relief. Ellaria Scamander unbuttoned her long, intricately-detailed black wool military coat, dipping a hand into an inside-pocket, and brought out a small phial, the contents shimmering reddish-copper like glowing embers made liquid.

"Harry, drink this," she said gently, carefully unscrewing the cap. With surprising tenderness, she pressed the phial to his lips and tipped the bottle, at the same time, brushing his hair away from his face in a maternal way. Whatever the potion was, it was delicious, and it went down like chocolate after a brush with Dementors, like his favourite soup on a bitter day, or a hot cup of tea after a strained Transfiguration lesson, bracing and comforting at once, with a hint of warm bread and treacle and his hands stopped shaking, he blinked the fuzziness from the corners of his eyes, and sat up a little straighter. A small chocolate followed, twisted in a silvery wrapper, dark and rich and buoying, and he flushed as Ellaria brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek tenderly.

Professor Dumbledore turned to McGonagall and Snape. "Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens, and bring up a house-elf named Winky. Minerva, we shall shortly be receiving visitors from Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Office. Please meet them at the gates, and bring them up to this office. They will no doubt wish to interrogate our imposter." The professors nodded and departed immediately.

"I need to contact the office," Ziggy said quietly, glancing at Dumbledore. "This needs to go to press, as soon as possible - you agree?"

"I do," Dumbledore said grimly. "You may borrow an owl."

"Hedwig can take your letter," Harry spoke up. "My snowy owl. She's very good."

"Thank you, Harry," Ziggy said, with a small smile, and nodded to him before leaving the office. Dumbledore turned next to Lupin. "Remus, please could you go and find Molly Weasley, I am sure she close to hysterical with worry about Harry. Please bring her and Bill Weasley back here." Lupin nodded, gave Harry a solemn look, and left the office. Harry watched Ellaria Scamander at Moody's trunk, unlocking each of the compartments in turn.

As she opened the seventh lock, Harry let out a cry of amazement. In a kind of pit, an underground room, seemingly fast asleep, thin and starved in appearance, his grizzled hair unevenly cut, lay the real Mad-Eye Moody. His wooden leg was gone, his eye-socket sunken and empty. Harry stared, thunder-struck, between the sleeping Moody in the trunk, and the one Sirius had Stunned moments ago.

Ellaria Scamander let out a long sigh, gazing down at Mad-Eye. "Oh, _Alastor_ …" She exchanged a look with Dumbledore, before climbing into the trunk and dropping down to land neatly beside the scarred, starved old man. Harry watched her check something on her wrist, as she held her hand to Moody's throat, checking for a pulse. One of her bracelets glowed softly in the gloom.

"Subdued by the Imperius Curse, Professor… Only Stunned, otherwise." She twisted her wand, and a thick and cosy knitted blanket appeared, draping itself over the sleeping Moody: The blanket even tucked itself in.

"Of course, he needed Alastor alive, Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to Harry, who watched the headmaster unscrew Mad-Eye's hipflask and upturn the contents onto the floor, thick and glutinous. "You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never _does_ drink except from his hip-flask, he's well known for it. The imposter needed to keep Alastor close, of course, to continue making Polyjuice Potion. See how his hair is uneven…" Ellaria Scamander climbed nimbly out of the trunk, looking cold and angry, her features seemingly carved from stone, extraordinary cheekbones popping. "The imposter has been cutting Alastor's hair off all year… But I think, in tonight's excitement, our fake Moody may have forgotten to take the Polyjuice Potion as often as he should. On the hour, every hour… We shall see…"

And they waited.

Remus was the first to reappear, escorting Bill, who looked more serious and alert than Harry ever dreamed the laidback wizard could be, and Mrs Weasley, who was white as a sheet and looked somewhat deflated.

"Headmaster, the students have been escorted back to their Houses; the Prefects have been tasked with keeping everyone calm; and I've asked the house-elves to send tea and hot-chocolate to the common-rooms with toast and crumpets, I think they'll do the world of good," he told Dumbledore, who looked, Harry thought, very proud, his eyes glinting, before he nodded, and thanked Lupin very earnestly.

"Harry! Oh, _Harry_! Look at the state of you - but what's this - ?" Mrs Weasley blurted, stunned, staring at the man on the floor.

" _Mad-Eye_?" Bill gaped, disbelieving.

"I know your relationship with Harry, Molly; you look upon him much as you do your own children," Dumbledore said, and Mrs Weasley inflated somewhat, nodding tearfully, her chin rising proudly. "It is for that reason I have asked you here. Soon we shall hear the testimony of the wizard responsible for the terror Harry has endured so bravely this past year. I think I can rely on you to help Harry, as you have so often in the past."

"Of _course_ ," Mrs Weasley gushed, claiming his other side as Remus squeezed his shoulder. "But he needs Madam Pomfrey, Professor - look at him!"

"In due course, Molly…but for now, we must wait," Dumbledore said, his eyes on the Stunned wizard on the floor. And that was that; Mrs Weasley, whom Harry had witnessed rant and shout for hours on end at The Burrow, simply nodded, and started fussing over Harry with a handkerchief. Harry let her; honestly, he felt reassured by her presence. He couldn't remember ever being fussed over like this before.

Ziggy returned to the office next, quietly confirming to Dumbledore that an owl had been sent to stop printing; furthermore, the editor of _The Phoenix_ was on her way.

Mrs Weasley gasped, and they all turned to watched, appalled, as before their very eyes, the face of the man on the floor started to change, the scars disappearing, the skin smooth; the mangled nose became whole, and started to shrink. The grizzled mane of grey hair withdrew to his scalp, turning thick and straw-coloured. Pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of fair hair, Harry suddenly recognised him as the young-man who had been put in trial in Dumbledore's Pensieve. Mr Crouch's son. Harry's stomach disappeared; he had watched the younger Crouch screaming to his father that he was innocent…

Sirius was growling low in his throat, hackles raised again, pale eyes locked on the Death Eater.

Hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, and Snape reappeared, Winky at his heels, Professor McGonagall leading a large group of unfamiliar witches and wizards.

"Crouch!" Snape stopped dead in the doorway. "Barty Crouch!"

"Good heavens," McGonagall gasped, staring. Lupin's hand on Harry's shoulder twitched, Ellaria Scamander stood rigidly, and Harry felt Sirius tense, as the other witches and wizards entered the room. He didn't recognise any of them: A freckled woman with a cameo-like profile and ink-stained fingers noticed Ziggy and approached her, giving her a questioning glance. There was a tall, bald black man with a golden earring; a young pretty-eyed witch with a heart-shaped face and chin-length peacock-blue hair; a square-jawed witch wearing a monocle; an eerily beautiful, very tall, slender woman with short white-blonde hair, dressed in loose, androgynous charcoal-grey robes; a blue-eyed wizard with a grim set to his lips, wearing a suit and tie under a rumpled trench-coat; and a limping older wizard who immediately brought to Harry's mind a battle-scarred old lion he had once breathlessly watched fight a younger contender for dominance of the pride in a David Attenborough programme the Dursleys had charitably allowed him to watch with them.

"Master Barty!" Winky suddenly squeaked, letting out a pitiful shriek. "Master Barty! What is you doing here?" Filthy and dishevelled, Winky flung herself at Crouch's chest. "You is killed him! You is killed Master Barty!"

"He is simply Stunned, Winky," Dumbledore said gently. Dumbledore looked calmly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Madam Bones. Mr Scrimgeour. I commend your timing."

"Ellaria mentioned Moody's been impersonated," said the tall black man, in a deep and reassuring voice. Harry sat very still, aware that Sirius Black was curled up over him, and that all eyes seemed to be darting to him, still bleeding all over the place.

"What's happened, Dumbledore?"

"We shall find out together," Dumbledore said, eyeing Barty Crouch Jr with distaste. "Before we revive Mr Crouch - introductions should be made. Beneath the blood and sweat you will all recognise Mr Potter, I am sure. Harry, may I introduce Shelley Franklin, owner and editor of the excellent newspaper _The Phoenix_. It is also my honour to introduce Amelia Bones. You may know of her niece, Susan Bones, who is in your year, in Hufflepuff House. Beside her is Rufus Scrimgeour, who is Head of the Auror Office. We have Rivkah Holmes -" The androgynous woman inclined her head with all the elegance of an empress, and her thin lips twitched into a smile that was almost shockingly gentle considering her sharp, minimalist appearance - "Alexandros Stark" - the man in the trench-coat stared at Harry, making him feel uncomfortable. The deep-voiced black wizard nodded his head when Dumbledore introduced him as "Kingsley Shacklebolt. And this charming young-lady with the _hair_ is none other than Nymphadora Tonks, who recently completed gruelling Auror training."

"Wotcher," the young witch beamed at Harry. "And please don't call me Nymphadora, Professor. It's Tonks!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled for a moment, and he allowed a chuckle.

"All but Madam Bones and Mrs Franklin are Aurors, Harry," Dumbledore told him sombrely. "Madam Bones is Head of the Department of Law Enforcement and sits on the Wizengamot."

"What happened, Dumbledore? Fudge was blustering about the Triwizard Tournament 'always having casualties'," the leonine wizard said, his voice accented and rumbling, narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore. "Seemed to think we were overstepping by appearing at your invitation."

"Has a boy really been killed, Professor?" said Madam Bones. She had a rather commanding voice, but with a kindness to it: Harry was reminded of Mrs Weasley, who had pressed her folded-up handkerchief over the cut on his arm.

"Yes. He was murdered during the plot to revive Lord Voldemort to a body," Dumbledore said unflinchingly; the reactions were not unexpected, and if the situation had been any other, Harry might have found it funny. Mrs Weasley jumped and gasped sharply; Bill twitched, and went pale. The black wizard jolted as if someone had hexed him; the androgynous witch paled even more, looking almost albino; the grim-looking man in the trench-coat looked suddenly innocent and lost, childlike; and the vibrant young witch managed to trip over her boot-laces, her hair turning white with shock. Harry stared at her, wondering how she had done it.

Only the rangy older man did not react, staring at Dumbledore. "This evening Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory were transported outside of the Hogwarts grounds by an unauthorised Portkey. You will find the Triwizard Cup available for examination later. Firstly I should like to hear the testimony of young Master Crouch. Severus, do you have the Veritaserum?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape said, and produced the tiny bottle he had once threatened Harry with during class. Dumbledore took the vial, but before he could administer the potion to Crouch, Ziggy Wodehouse cleared her throat gently.

"Professor - before we start… Everything should be recorded," she said quietly, catching Ellaria's eye across the room. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, before Ellaria Scamander nodded, and as Ziggy started taking photographs of everything - the Stunned Crouch; the Polyjuice Potion on the floor; the real Mad-Eye in his own trunk; Harry, bleeding, still confused - Ellaria reached into the inside-pocket of her coat, withdrawing an innocuous palm-sized wooden box.

She set the box down on the desk, opened the delicate clasp, and delicately tapped her wand with her fingertip as if flicking a bead of moisture from the end. Everyone watched as what looked like a set of gobstones in varying sizes floated out of the box, glinting in the lamplight, almost mirroring the solar system as each tiny glass sphere drifted to a point in the room and started orbiting, and Harry jumped, startled, as beams of light emanated from them, similar to the way Harry had seen lasers in Dudley's favourite superhero films scan rooms to collate information. The lights were shimmering, iridescent, like the Aurora Borealis, colours beyond imagining, flickering, light undulating gold and red-hot and pure white and dangerous opalescent black. Ellaria produced a jar from her pocket, and set it onto the desk beside the wooden box, borrowing Ziggy's fountain-pen and a slip of notebook paper to start writing.

"These will take impressions of the room," Ellaria explained, glancing not just at Harry but at the Aurors, who were gazing at the marbles and the light as if they were unnerved, had never seen anything like them. "Like memories in a Pensieve, they will record everything in perfect detail, every sensation, audible, tactile, olfactible, as if they were real and witnessing things as we are, so we may go back and investigate even the tiniest detail. They will pick up magical signatures and spells used in the vicinity, and allow for us to revisit what occurred. More importantly, unlike memory, the information, once collated, cannot be tampered with, and nor is it biased for it has a truly neutral perspective."

"Where did you get these?" Rufus Scrimgeour asked sharply, his tone deeply suspicious, as one of the marbles slowly orbited his head, light flickering off everything around him. "M.A.C.U.S.A.?"

Harry frowned, wondering who Macusa was. Ellaria didn't answer immediately, except to scoff gently under her breath, and Harry wondered if she was pointedly ignoring him; she continued to write, but she did tilt her head to look at Scrimgeour with both eerie eyes from behind her dreads. Harry got the impression Ellaria did not like Rufus Scrimgeour. Finally she stood, her back ramrod straight, idly capping her pen, and said proudly, "No… My daughter created them."

Sirius' head jerked up, staring at Ellaria through the Aurora Borealis of light and colour filling the room. Gradually, the light and colours settled down, and Harry noticed that the dark gobstones had started to softly glow from within. Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore, who was watching the gobstones with a strange kind of innocent childlike wonder on his face.

Finally, Dumbledore strode past, uncapping the Veritaserum bottle, saying kindly, "Winky, may I ask you to step aside. I shall not hurt him." Hiccoughing, Winky tottered out of the way; Harry wasn't sure whether respect for Dumbledore's politeness or the dread of failing to uphold a direct order made her step out of the way, but her streaming eyes followed Dumbledore's every move as he wrenched the younger wizard's jaw open and spilled three drops of Veritaserum into his mouth. Ellaria then helped him pull Crouch into a sitting-position beneath the Foe-Glass that now seemed like a normal mirror.

Finally, he pointed to the man's chest with his wand and murmured, " _Rennervate_." As Sirius tensed around Harry, the younger wizard's eyelashes fluttered as his blue eyes opened. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused, but when Dumbledore asked, "Can you hear me?" he answered, "Yes."

"I would like you to tell us," Dumbledore said softly, "how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?"

Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, and started to speak in a flat, emotionless voice. "My mother saved me…"

They listened, and Harry stared, and the little floating marbles glowed brighter as the whole, terrible truth unfolded. Ziggy and the editor Shelley Franklin were both scribbling short-hand onto notepads, eyes fixed on Crouch, or darting around the room, taking in everyone's reactions. Remus stayed by Harry's side, hand on his shoulder, while Sirius had his pale eyes fixed on Crouch, ears pricked up, listening to every word. Madam Bones and the young Auror Tonks were also taking notes on rolls of parchment, and if the other Aurors wanted to ask questions, they waited out of respect as Dumbledore gently prodded and pried. The Veritaserum was awe-inspiring; Harry wondered why the Ministry had never used it to confirm Sirius was the traitor - if only to use the information to round up other Death Eaters after Voldemort's defeat. It would have proven in an instant that Sirius was no traitor.

Finally, heavily, Dumbledore asked, "And tonight?"

"I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the Maze before dinner," Crouch whispered. "Turned it into a Portkey. My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honoured by him beyond the dreams of wizards…"

An insane smile lit his features, and his head drooped onto his shoulders as Winky sobbed at his side.

For a moment, no-one spoke. Dumbledore stared down at Crouch with undisguised disgust. Then Ellaria Scamander flicked her wand idly, and something silvery like moonlight, slinky and shining sinuously, swam through thin-air like a water-snake; the fine chain made some of the Aurors sigh softly, or click their tongues, staring in wonder, and Harry was glad he didn't seem to be the only one who didn't know what it was; but he was too stunned by Crouch's testimony to ask. The chain bound itself around Crouch's neck, wrists, middle and ankles, and hissed and burned angry red where the charmed metal came into contact with his skin. Winky cried at the sight, but Ellaria stooped to murmur something to Winky, who hiccoughed, gazing at Ellaria as if captivated, and nodded so vigorously her huge ears flapped noisily. Winky took the end of the silver chain, sniffed, and stood resolutely by Crouch's side, her tiny shoulders thrown back defiantly, daring anyone to approach her. Harry wondered what Ellaria had said to Winky, for the tiny elf was gazing respectfully up at her.

Ellaria then flicked her wand again, and the glowing gobstones drifted sluggishly to the jar on the desk, moving the way Harry and Ron felt sometimes after school Feasts when they'd eaten too much. Once they reached the jar, they descended into it patiently, one after the other, seeming to ooze light and colour into the jar, seeping memory, until the brightness and colour and pure light made Harry scrunch up his eyes in pain. Each marble rose from the light, now darkened, empty again, and sank neatly into its place in the suede lining of the innocuous wooden box. Ellaria clasped the jar shut, and murmured something before tapping her wand against the jar in a complicated sequence. A miniature explosion seemed to be occurring inside the jar; the light built in intensity until everything in the room seemed bleached of colour, and in the next heartbeat, settled down, leaving them blinking. The jar stood, full of something almost like the contents of Dumbledore's Pensieve, a darker silver than Dumbledore's thoughts, a miniature thunderstorm full of violent lightning had been captured inside the jar, swirling idly and crackling with light and colour. Ellaria carefully stuck her handwritten label on the jar and pocketed it.

None of the witches or wizards seemed to know what to say.

Then, sensibly, her voice tight and lethal and the tone Harry usually associated with her berating her mischievous twin sons, Mrs Weasley said, "He should be dragged straight back to Azkaban!"

This seemed to jolt the Aurors into action, and the one named Alexandros Stark was dispatched, to return with Hit Wizards who would escort Crouch to Azkaban, to the cell he had abandoned his dying mother to years ago.

"He's confessed to murder, kidnapping, and the use of the Imperius Curse, collusion, and escape from Azkaban, Dumbledore, but of You-Know-Who returning, how could he have any idea, if he never left the Hogwarts grounds?" Madam Bones asked reasonably.

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a fleeting look, and Snape peeled the sleeve of his robe back, revealing a hideous scar burned into his left forearm. The Dark Mark, branded there for all to see - and for Lord Voldemort to summon. A bitter taste sprang to Harry's mouth when he saw it, reminded of Wormtail, writhing on the ground, handless, as Lord Voldemort pressed a long, spidery finger to his most cowardly servant's scar. Harry wondered briefly whether Lord Voldemort would punish Snape for not showing his face at the graveyard.

"Whatever the Dark Lord planned this evening worked. It is not as clear as it was, an hour ago, when it burnt black, but every Death Eater had the sign burnt into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing each other, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side," Snape said coolly, and Harry noticed Tonks gaping at the Mark on his arm. The older Aurors shifted uncomfortably, and some of them glanced at Dumbledore. "This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. He fled this evening, when he felt the Mark burn as it hasn't in thirteen years. We both knew the Dark Lord had returned. You of all people will know how many Karkaroff betrayed to remain outside Azkaban's walls, a free man. Now he has fled; he dreads the Dark Lord's vengeance."

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode forward, inclining his head to Winky, who watched him shrewdly but allowed him to push up the sleeve of Crouch's stolen robes. The Dark Mark burned angrily on his arm.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Shacklebolt said, in his slow, deep voice, glancing over at Madam Bones, at Rufus Scrimgeour. "Sirius Black… All evidence proves it was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed the Potters all those years ago…" He turned to sweep his dark eyes over Harry's face, searching for something there.

"I'd hoped you would come to the same conclusion," Dumbledore said, smiling benignly at Rufus Scrimgeour for some reason, almost as if getting a dig in. "You've been working tirelessly to track down Sirius Black for the better part of two years, Kingsley, I'd hate for you to hear the news second-hand. We shall have to talk later…but for now…yes, I think - it is time… Sirius, would you care to join us? I believe your godson would benefit from your presence…"

* * *

 **A.N.** : See, simples! All the magic in the world doesn't mean a thing if you haven't got an ounce of common-sense, and re-reading _Goblet of Fire_ it astounds me how many simple mistakes were made by grown adults which could've affected a completely different outcome!

Also, Tilda Swinton inspired Rivkah Holmes; and Castiel, Alexandros Stark!

Oh, and **I WILL NOT KILL TONKS OR REMUS**. There's a list of characters precious to me; anyone else, I cannot be held responsible for their fates…well, maybe a little…but I apologise for nothing!


	4. The Pensieve

**A.N.** : Continuing in the theme of 'What if the adults actually behaved like experienced, mature wizards?'

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _The Pensieve_

* * *

The great bear-like black dog stared at Dumbledore for a moment, tilted his head to one side, and suddenly, Sirius the man was sat so close beside Harry that he was almost in his godson's lap.

For the first time all night, Harry got a good look at his godfather, and was quite pleasantly surprised by what he saw. The last time they had spent time together was their visit in the _Three Broomsticks_ , where Sirius had thrown caution to the wind and grinned at his own daring as he transformed to sit with Harry, Ron and Hermione in one of Madam Rosmerta's private parlours for tea, crumpets and counselling - ironically enough, discussing the madness of Mr Crouch.

Harry glanced from Sirius to the captured Death Eater, stunned at the hollow victory, finally figuring out what it all meant.

He was a touch gratified that their instincts had been on point.

Since the night Harry had helped him evade the Kiss by fleeing into the mountains on the condemned Buckbeak, Sirius' appearance had changed dramatically. A jaunt in foreign, exotic climates, good food and freedom had worked wonders, and perhaps a good amount of magic, too, for Sirius' appearance was remarkably more similar to that of the handsome young man who had laughed at Harry's parents' wedding - older, of course; Sirius was now thirty-five, not twenty. Harry had sent him new robes, chocolate, some books and a cake whipped up by the house-elves for his birthday in November, the first Sirius had received in thirteen years - Harry had felt the same way he thought Hagrid must have, that night in the hut on the rock when he had told Harry he was a wizard, and given Harry his first ever cake… _Pride_. It had felt like giving Sirius a home-coming, a well-deserved "Welcome back."

His first reappearance since last June, Sirius had sported a very severe haircut. His dark hair had now grown out, thicker and healthier than Harry remembered, though it was past his shoulders again, and tousled from his change; he tossed his head and his hair settled with a kind of casual elegance that Harry's would never achieve. His tall frame had bulked out considerably, and Harry was sure Sirius' muscles could give the Weasley twins a run for their money, for life as Madam Rosmerta's pet at the _Three Broomsticks_ meant a high protein diet of anything he wanted from the pub kitchens, and unfettered freedom to roam the village and pelt across the Hogwarts grounds with Fang the boarhound, a not unusual sight nowadays. Students knew him as Madam Rosmerta's dog and gave him scraps from the House tables if they saw him.

Harry's only concern had been Snape, tipping the Ministry off.

He hadn't, and Sirius showed signs of starting to recover physically from his time in Azkaban. He no longer looked skeletal and horrifying; his cheekbones would always be dramatic, Harry thought, and he reflected dejectedly on his godfather's impressive jawline and the vivid grey eyes that settled with a challenging, imperious kind of arrogance on the group of Aurors - were they a group? A cluster? An antagonism of Aurors? - as he sprawled beside Harry, almost goadingly.

Mrs Weasley jumped as if jinxed, shrieking, " _Sirius Black!_ "

"It's alright, Mrs Weasley," Harry reassured her tiredly.

"A charming hunt you've led me on, Black," said Shacklebolt in his deep voice; Sirius didn't look the least bit apologetic, in fact, he wasn't even looking at the antagonism of Aurors, all of whom had their wands drawn.

Sirius was looking at Ellaria Scamander.

And it was only as her gaze locked on his that Harry saw a flicker of uncertainty, of contrition, dart across Sirius' face.

His _wife_ …

In an instant, Harry realised three things: That Ellaria had had no idea that Sirius was an unregistered Animagus; that this was the first time Ellaria and Sirius had seen each other in years; and that he, Harry, was unwittingly sat between them, a human shield.

Suddenly the air seemed breathless, seemed to crackle with tension. Harry shrank down where he sat, and Remus squeezed his shoulder lightly.

Sirius stood slowly, unfolding to an impressive height, his eyes locked on Ellaria's face as if mesmerised. "Hello, Ell." Ellaria's expression was stricken, her warm cocoa skin paling noticeably. Faster than Harry expected, Sirius dived toward her, gripping her wrist so her wand pointed away before her jinx could hit him, the jet of light dislodging a picture. No-one intervened as Sirius pulled Ellaria closer. He was taller than her by half a head, but he ducked to press his forehead against hers, raising his other hand to cradle her cheek. They never broke eye-contact, and Harry stared, feeling flushed, unable to look away, feeling like an intruder in a searing, intimate moment. His thumb tenderly stroking her scarred cheek, nuzzling his nose against hers, it was an intimate, heart-breaking reunion. With a look of intense relief, Sirius rested his forehead against hers, their eyes speaking, and her wand-arm lowered, her wand held loosely in her elegant, ringed fingers.

"Come here," he murmured, and drew her into a tight embrace. Harry caught the brief look of complete devastation flicker across Ellaria's face before she clutched her hands in his robes. He whispered something in her ear that made her lower-lip tremble, even as she gave a throaty laugh.

Harry thought he heard Sirius murmur, " _You still drip sex, Ria_ ," before they broke apart, and Ellaria flashed him a searing look, smirking.

"You look good, Sirius," she replied casually, and Sirius shrugged, but he looked pleased when she reached up to cradle his cheek in her hand. Dark and light, scarred and worn, the two had definitely had a hard time of the last thirteen years, much like Remus, who still stood beside Harry with his hand on his shoulder, as if he wanted to reassure himself that Harry was still there.

Then the atmosphere changed, and Harry was aware that Dumbledore was looking at him, and he suddenly realised, this was the part he had dreaded the most. Dumbledore was going to ask him to relive it. The sense of numbness and complete unreality that had settled in him since Crouch's testimony started now started itching, shedding itself, under the solemn gaze of Professor Dumbledore behind those half-moon spectacles. Harry avoided his gaze.

"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the Maze, Harry," he said gently.

Mrs Weasley and Sirius blurted their heated disagreement at the same time - "We can leave that 'til morning, can't we?" - "He needs a _Healer_ , Professor, just look at him!" Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward the two of them, but Dumbledore paid them no mind; slowly, unwillingly, Harry raised his head, and looked into those blue eyes.

"If I thought I could help you," he said gently, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep, and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."

"Dumbledore…you have a Pensieve, do you not? I think I remember one in your office." It was Ellaria who spoke, and when Harry glanced up, he realised that she was looking shrewdly at the Aurors and the two reporters gathered in the room, the professors, Lupin, Bill Weasley. "Sometimes _showing_ is more effective than telling."

For a moment, Harry thought Dumbledore was going to ignore Ellaria. Then, he let out a small sigh, let his blue eyes roam over Harry's blood-soaked, exhausted form, and nodded.

"You are right, of course," he said, eyeing the Aurors, Madam Bones. "Harry…do you consent to us examining your memories of this evening in the Pensieve?" Harry glanced at Sirius, who gave him a grim smile. Harry nodded. Dumbledore glanced at Madam Bones. "As Headmaster of Hogwarts and charged with the care and custody of Harry Potter, will it suffice that I give my permission for Magical Law Enforcement to encroach upon Harry's memories?"

"Indeed, Dumbledore," Madam Bones nodded sternly.

"Then - Severus, might I ask you to remain and stand guard over Crouch until the Hit Wizards arrive from the Ministry?" Snape gave a sharp nod, glowering at the captive.

"Sir, the elf?" Ellaria murmured, glancing at Winky.

"Ah… Winky…" Dumbledore addressed the tiny, grubby elf. "When Hit Wizards from the Ministry arrive, I am afraid they will escort Master Crouch back to Azkaban, where he will await retrial. You may be called upon to testify in front of the Wizengamot… I do not wish you to be harmed, so I therefore ask that you not interfere when they make the arrest." Winky's eyes filled with tears, but she dipped in a clumsy, grief-stricken curtsy, still holding on to the shimmering silver chain. "Winky…I commend you, for such extraordinary loyalty to your family. You took such great care of them, it could not be more evident how deeply you loved them." Winky's lips trembled, and tears coursed down her face.

"I is - I is loving them for all of my life," Winky choked and squeaked, and Mrs Weasley suddenly reached out. Winky shuddered and cried, and Mrs Weasley's eyes were damp as she patted the tiny elf's shoulder, looking stricken.

Harry stared at the elf, and for a moment, was relieved that Mr Crouch had given her clothes. She had not been in the house when Lord Voldemort appeared and wrought such devastation on her family; Harry felt certain she would have been collateral damage, thought no more of than Voldemort had thought of Wormtail, twitching and bleeding on the ground.

He wondered what Hermione would think to Crouch's testimony.

Ellaria produced another of the small chocolates from her seemingly bottomless pockets and gave it to Winky, who cradled the sweet in one long-fingered hand, tears still coursing down her face, but as the adults gathered and started making their way to Professor Dumbledore's office, Harry saw her unwrap and eat the chocolate, gazing sadly at Barty Crouch, but no longer crying.

Sirius and Remus helped Harry hobble to Dumbledore's office, past the gargoyle, and he was the only one given a chair in front of Dumbledore's great desk. The Pensieve was brought out from its cabinet, the memories emptied into labelled vials, and there was a soft rush of wings. Fawkes the phoenix had taken flight across the room, landing lightly on Harry's knee.

It was Ellaria who approached Harry, her wand drawn. Sirius had his hands bracingly on his shoulders, but Harry didn't flinch, even at the sight of Ellaria's scarred face and shudder-inducing damaged eye. After what he had seen tonight, if what he had endured tonight was a _taste_ of what Aurors went through… Harry thought she was all the more beautiful because of her scars.

"It won't hurt, I promise, Harry," she said gently.

"What - what do I have to do?" he asked, never having given a memory for the Pensieve before.

"Picture what happened in your mind, Harry, when you touched the Portkey," Ellaria said gently. Fawkes settled neatly on his knee, but Harry winced and glanced down at his battered leg, and he was suddenly remembering the Acromantula, arguing with Cedric over taking the Cup, taking it together, appearing in the shadowy cemetery, and everything that happened after. Regret burned in his veins, that he _hadn't_ taken it when Cedric insisted, and Ellaria had placed the tip of her wand gently to his temple, already removing a shining silvery memory.

He wondered fleetingly why bad memories weren't a different colour, and watched as his memory was transferred to the Pensieve. He could still - he could still remember everything in the Maze, the graveyard, the memory had not been stolen or erased, and a sense of grief settled in the pit of his stomach. He had been hoping the memory would be gone.

The Pensieve glowed with his memory. Safe in Dumbledore's gargoyle-guarded office, with Fawkes a comforting warmth on his knee to watch over him, Harry was finally, blessedly, and for the first time all day, left alone. He didn't have to answer any questions, didn't have to think, didn't have to do anything but sit and stroke Fawkes's warm feathers. One by one the adults descended into the Pensieve, into his memories, even a pale Mrs Weasley, who seemed torn between staying with Harry, and witnessing first-hand what he had endured.

He felt sure he had been in the Pensieve longer, when he fell into Dumbledore's thoughts, but perhaps time worked differently in memories. In what felt like no time at all, the Pensieve was regurgitating everyone back into the office. Mrs Weasley was white as a sheet and had her hands clamped over her mouth in horror; Ellaria looked like she had been carved from stone, her face was so stoic, but her eyes were burning, flashing with intent; and Lupin looked completely devastated. Tears glinted in Sirius' eyes, spilling over his cheeks, a muscle in his jaw working…Harry thought he had been affected by seeing his parents… McGonagall was paler and the line of her mouth thinner than Harry had ever seen it, her eyes sparkling. A wide-eyed Tonks was shaking all over, leaning on straight arms over Dumbledore's desk, retching; Lupin turned to gently pat her back, murmuring something soothing as she panted and gasped.

Fawkes tilted his head to one side, and let out a quavering note that slipped down into Harry's stomach like his favourite treacle tart, soothing every one of the adults, who looked shaken and upset.

"Oh, _Harry_ ," Mrs Weasley gasped, her face tear-stained.

"It's my fault," he said hoarsely, staring at the rug at their feet, as Kingsley Shacklebolt clambered out of the Pensieve, followed by Rufus Scrimgeour.

"What?" Sirius barked gruffly, frowned at him as if utterly bemused, blinking tears away. He reached up a shaking hand to wipe his face, his eyes bright.

"I told Cedric to take the Cup with me - it's my fault." His voice broke, and Sirius' face went slack, his eyes very bright.

"It is _not your fault_!" Mrs Weasley cried vehemently, and she did something no-one else had yet done. Fawkes fluttered out of the way as she descended upon Harry, and pulled him into a hug.

Harry had no memory of being embraced like this, as if by a mother.

His throat burned, his eyes stung, and he shook with violent, silent sobs, clinging to Mrs Weasley, as she whispered, " _You brave boy…oh, you brave, brave boy…_ " over and over again, stroking his hair.

Any questions the Aurors had were answered by Harry's memories, or by Crouch's testimony. Eventually, Mrs Weasley let go of him, settling him back into the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, more exhausted than he had felt all night, and Fawkes ruffled his feathers, resting his head against Harry's leg; Harry reached down and gently stroked his head, barely listening to the adults talking over each other, their fear and a new sense of urgency palpable.

They discussed Voldemort's speech - the theft of Harry's blood had Sirius and Dumbledore examining his arm, Ellaria bewildered by Voldemort's thoughtlessness - "Lily's _blood_ , Dumbledore... I would not have believed his supreme _arrogance_ if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes…" His parents' old friends were grief-stricken by Lily and James' reappearances during what Dumbledore called _Priori Incantatum_ \- the reverse-spell effect… Harry learned that his own wand's phoenix tail-feather core had come from _Fawkes_ …as had Voldemort's. The Aurors had irrefutable evidence of the Death Eaters roaming free, and were vibrating with fury, bristling with purpose, arguing amongst themselves as to the best course of action.

"Harry…" Dumbledore spoke gently, and the adults quietened respectfully to listen. The ancient wizard gazed at Harry with clear blue eyes brimming with pride. "I will say it again… You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it - and you have now given us all we have a right to expect from you."

Harry flicked his gaze from face to face, almost embarrassed to linger; but he saw something etched into the grim lines of their faces as they stared at him. Deep _respect_. They suddenly all seemed much older, even handsome Bill and colourful Tonks, and Ziggy's prettiness had hardened to resolve.

The Aurors' scars seemed more vivid, more poignant because of his experience tonight.

Whatever they had read about him in the _Daily Prophet_ was forgotten; Harry's true character had shown itself in the Pensieve and the attention-seeking boy they might have thought they knew was replaced by an image of their own creation. A fighter - a survivor; a brave, stubborn, emotional boy who had risked his neck to bring a dead schoolmate home to his parents, who had made sure the first thing he did on his return was to warn the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared…

They wanted to go over Harry's memory in detail: The Death Eaters; Harry's blood, the potion that revived Voldemort; the obscure phenomenon that occurred when two wands met their brothers and were forced to duel; the absurd obedience of the snake Nagini; Bertha Jorkins and the Muggle man; and Crouch's testimony.

They argued about what had to happen next.

It was in the midst of the clamouring that Cornelius Fudge made his appearance.

He blustered about Aurors and Hit Wizards descending upon Hogwarts without his approval; irritated that he had been left to "deal with" Mr and Mrs Diggory alone; dismissive of the story Snape had told him about Crouch's testimony; and apoplectic at the sight of them all gathered around Harry, seeking answers and guidance from Dumbledore. Sirius was conspicuous as a dog, again, growling low and menacing as Fudge shouted.

Had things been different, the war that followed might have gone a drastically different course.

As it was, the shrieking argument that followed, about Crouch's "lunacy", Fudge's tantrum about Dumbledore summoning _his_ Aurors and Heads of Department to Hogwarts after an accidental death - " _children died in the Tournament all the time, Dumbledore, Diggory is no different, an accident in the Maze, a counter-curse gone wrong, for all we know that half-cracked boy's just trying to cover up Diggory's death, he may even have caused it_ " - and the snide, cold way in which Fudge now regarded Harry - "You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Minister" - was one Harry would remember for years to come.

It was the exact moment when Fudge lost the respect of everyone in the room, some of the most talented and influential people in the country. The most _dangerous_ people in the country.

It also marked the beginning of Fudge's swift and dramatic descent from power.

Debates Harry knew nothing about, over actions that were deemed, merely a week ago, to be too drastic, were decided in the breathless, disdainful silence following Fudge's tantrum - quietly, but definitively.

Everyone in Dumbledore's office saw Fudge for what he was - a blustering, angry little wizard too frightened of losing his own power to acknowledge the true, devastating danger they were all in.

Fudge left, and the adults turned to Dumbledore, as if they had never even interrupted. Harry briefly wondered what it meant that their Minister for Magic, the head of their government, could so easily be disregarded at this most crucial moment.

"Fudge's attitude, while not unexpected, changes everything," Dumbledore sighed, when the portly wizard had disappeared with a slamming of the door that made Mrs Weasley tut about her children showing more maturity. Sirius reappeared, scowling dangerously at the door, staring at it as if he was seriously considering chasing Fudge down, but he turned to Dumbledore as if awaiting orders.

"What next?" he asked.

Dumbledore surveyed everyone gathered before him, his eyes solemn. Harry wondered vaguely how many of them had been his students, and how many of them had been brought up in front of the Headmaster as often as Harry had.

"We reform the Order of the Phoenix." There were a lot of confused faces, but Ellaria, Sirius and Remus exchanged looks that mingled excitement with relief and a nod, as if this was natural; the others looked bemused. "During the War, I headed a secret society fighting tirelessly against Lord Voldemort. Ellaria, Remus and Sirius here are all surviving members. In light of what has transpired tonight, after what we have seen in Harry's memories, and after Cornelius' exhibition, I invite you all to join us. To fight Lord Voldemort - and to win. Lord Voldemort can never again regain the foothold he once had; we need to ensure measures can be taken to prevent this."

"You leave the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to me, Dumbledore," said Madam Bones grimly, exchanging a look with Rufus Scrimgeour and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the elegant Auror, Holmes. Madam Bones had stood silent and shocked and staring during Fudge's outburst, as if seeing the Minister for the first time, and appalled, disdainful, and lacking any respect for what she saw. Now recovered, she looked determined, and Harry was reminded again of Mrs Weasley, who still had an arm around him.

"Can the Auror Office be relied upon?" Dumbledore asked.

"We'll send a team out to the cemetery now. I doubt there's much to find but maybe they got careless in the confusion," Scrimgeour said, and Tonks nodded. "We've Potter's testimony and Crouch; we'll gather as much intelligence as we can and decide how to proceed."

"I appreciate your decisiveness, and wanting to take immediate action, Rufus; I was, however, referring to the integrity of your staff…" Dumbledore fixed Scrimgeour with a look over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "It gives me no pleasure to say it; our Ministry is pockmarked with those who lack a courage and nobility in their entire bodies that you possess in your little finger."

"As I said, Dumbledore," Madam Bones said, rather coolly, but she looked respectfully at Dumbledore, "leave it to me." Dumbledore held her gaze for a moment, and nodded. Scrimgeour looked over Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Holmes, and finally Madam Bones, who, after a brief pause, gave an imperious nod that seemed to convey an order Scrimgeour had been waiting for. The Head of the Auror Office set his jaw, and gave orders to his colleagues. One by one, the Aurors trickled out of the office. Holmes gave him her gentle, transformative smile, touching his shoulder gently as she passed; Tonks tripped on the edge of the rug and fell into a tight handshake, nodding at him. Finally, Harry was left with Sirius, Mrs Weasley and Bill, McGonagall, Ellaria Scamander, the two journalists and Madam Bones.

"Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian were part of your Order, weren't they," said Bill, very shrewdly, and Professor Dumbledore gazed at him over his half-moon spectacles as Mrs Weasley gasped.

Dumbledore looked Mrs Weasley in the eye when he answered, "They were, indeed. Extraordinary wizards, the both of them…as was Edgar." He glanced at Madam Bones, whose lips parted, staring at him, looking startled for the first time.

"Well, count me in," Bill said grimly. "I'll do what I can. Charlie will want to, as well, I know."

"A contact within Gringott's would be more than we had last time," Dumbledore bowed his head to Bill. "And we must have as many foreign contacts as possible. Word must be spread that Lord Voldemort has returned, before international communications become more fraught. We must all be ready."

"You can count on the _Phoenix_ ," said Shelley Franklin, Ziggy nodding behind her; their pens had recorded every single word of Fudge's tantrum, tucked behind the large Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Harry was sure he had seen one of Ellaria's marbles glowing in the sweet-dish on Dumbledore's desk, passed surreptitiously to Ziggy as Fudge slammed his way out of the office.

"I cannot impress upon you the seriousness of the risk you take upon yourselves, but the quill usually is a great deal mightier than the wand," Dumbledore said solemnly. He gazed at Shelley Franklin for a moment, something passing between them unsaid.

"Luckily I've got a few old hats at subterfuge and social revolution in my contacts," Shelley said, nodding at Ziggy - and, interestingly, Ellaria. "We know what do to. If we haven't had Fudge booted out of office by Easter, I'll eat that phoenix." She nodded at Fawkes, who ruffled his feathers in a rather affronted way. Harry glanced down at the movement, realising with a jolt that his leg was completely healed; Fawkes' pearlescent tears had healed him.

"I would prefer you did not, no matter the outcome," Dumbledore said, with a twinkling smile, and Fawkes lifted his head, sang a pure note, and took wing, landing elegantly on his golden perch.

"We'd better go; we're in for a long night," Shelley said, glancing at Ziggy, who was still scribbling furiously. She glanced up only to give Bill Weasley a fierce look, something blazing from her eyes that Harry did not quite understand.

When they had gone, Dumbledore turned next to Lupin. "Remus, might I ask you to alert the old crowd. Arabella, Mundungus Fletcher, Sturgis, Elphias - and start making enquiries. As many people as possible must be alerted to the truth, before other forces start to work against us."

"Start with my family," Ellaria said, glancing at Remus. "Granddad's itching to get back into the fight. My brother and sister; Benjen's sons are especially well-placed. They're excellent wizards and decent boys." Lupin nodded.

"Any others, Professor, off the top of your head?" Lupin asked.

"Fortescue, and Tom at the Leaky Cauldron. And after what happened between their wands, I do fear for Mr Ollivander's safety. Wand-lore is difficult to come by, and there are few more knowledgeable; Lord Voldemort bought his wand from Ollivander all those years ago, he will seek answers," Dumbledore said. "Garrick will take some convincing. But he will need protection, not least because he is the finest wand-maker in all Europe; he arms all of Britain. We cannot leave ourselves vulnerable by abandoning Garrick to whatever fate Lord Voldemort would deal him. Also contact Aberforth and Rosmerta, have them make the rounds in the village. St Mungo's would be advantageous, too; try Healers Curie, Lark and Watson. And, Remus - as many of your old contacts as are still around."

"I'll try. But things have gotten no better, even with Wolfsbane."

"Make them an offer, Remus. A subsidised Wolfsbane Potion dispensary," Ellaria spoke up, seeming to surprise Dumbledore. "No questions asked. And a hot meal the day after the full-moon."

"It is a start," Dumbledore said heavily, and Harry wondered at the slight frown on Lupin's face as he stared at Ellaria. Lupin turned to Harry.

"I'm afraid I have to go now, Harry," he said sombrely.

"What? No -"

"I must do my part, you understand?" Remus said, and Harry opened his mouth to protest.

"But -"

"It won't be for long, I can only promise you that," Lupin said gently, glancing over his shoulder at Dumbledore, who glanced briefly away from Ellaria, who was leaning down to murmur in his ear. "I have no doubt we will see each other very soon, but it is crucial we alert as many people as we can to what's happened… We have fair warning, something we _never_ had last time, Harry, and that's all because of _you_ …your bravery." He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, bending to look him in the eye. "I am so proud of you, Harry… What you did for Cedric…for his parents…goes beyond anything anyone could have asked of you. Your parents would have done no less; and that is the highest praise I can give you."

Lupin gathered him up into a tight hug, and Harry wanted to stay there. Too soon, they broke apart, Lupin bright-eyed, his lips twitching, and Harry sniffed, his eyes burning. Lupin embraced Black like a brother, kissed Ellaria's cheek, gripped Harry's shoulder one last time, and swept out of the office.

"Molly…am I right in thinking I can count on you and Arthur?"

"Of course you can," Mrs Weasley said passionately, as if she had been holding this in for a good while. She was still white to the lips after her trip into the Pensieve, but looked resolute. "He knows what Fudge is, it's Arthur's fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride… Fudge believes there's a _distinction_ between purebloods and Muggle-borns…or should be…" Mrs Weasley looked gloriously contemptuous, and had since the moment Fudge started attacking Harry.

"Then I need to send a message to Arthur," Dumbledore said calmly. "All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and Arthur is well-placed at the Ministry to contact those not as short-sighted as Cornelius."

"I'll go to Dad," Bill said, "I'll go now."

"Excellent," Dumbledore nodded, sighing heavily. "Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, until we know the lay of the land."

"Leave it to me," Bill said, and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, briefly clasped his hand in a firm handshake, with a solemn nod, kissed his mother, and hastily followed in Lupin's footsteps.

"Molly…I think it is finally time that Harry be allowed to rest in peace, and quiet. Please could you escort him to the Hospital Wing? I would appreciate if you would stay with him," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes sliding from Mrs Weasley, who was nodding vigorously, to Harry, who was suddenly relieved that the fiery, maternal woman would be staying by his side. "If you wouldn't mind giving this to Madam Pomfrey…" He handed Mrs Weasley a sealed letter.

"Professor…" Harry said quietly, glancing at the Headmaster. "Where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?"

"They are…with Professor Sprout. She was Cedric's Head of House and…knew him best," Dumbledore said, and his voice, which had been calm throughout the entire night, now shook slightly. Mrs Weasley's lip trembled, and her eyes were bright as she helped Harry down the revolving spiral staircase. She didn't seem to want to let go of him.

It seemed a long walk to the Hospital Wing, where they found a very harassed Madam Pomfrey holding her own against Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins. At the sight of their mother's bloodless face and Harry, sweat-stained and covered in dried blood, the Weasleys fell silent, Hermione's lips parted, but a look of relief swept over them all, and they seemed to relax.

"What are you all doing out of Gryffindor Tower?" Mrs Weasley demanded sternly.

"Harry, what's - "

"All of you - _bed_."

"But _Mum_ -"

"No. Pomona, here - from Dumbledore. The lot of you - you are not to ask Harry any questions, do you hear me; he needs something to eat, a Sleeping Draught - and peace and quiet," Mrs Weasley said sternly, looking each of her children and Hermione in the face.

"But - what's happened?" Hermione asked quietly, staring at Harry.

"Voldemort's back. Couldn't stop him. Pettigrew killed Cedric. It was my fault."

Madam Pomfrey dropped a bottle of potion. The Weasleys paled to the last freckle, looking to their mother, for confirmation, or reassurance. Ginny dropped back onto a cot; it was the first time Harry had ever seen the twins speechless. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and sat down firmly on the nearest bed.

While Mrs Weasley hugged each of her children, and Hermione, Madam Pomfrey helped Harry out of his ruined robes with trembling hands, healed his cuts and bruises. She dosed him with a draught of Dreamless Sleep, and for the first time in his memory, Harry was tucked into bed. Mrs Weasley leaned over to kiss his forehead, and he was asleep before he realised she was gently taking the glasses from his face, folding them neatly on the nightstand, and taking up a quiet vigil at his bedside while her children and Hermione climbed onto cots around him, refusing to leave the Hospital Wing without Harry.

* * *

 **A.N.** : If only, eh?


	5. Taking a Stand

**A.N.** : After _decades_ I think I've finally found a face-claim for Harry that I adore: Tom Holland. I fell in love with him after watching _The Impossible_. _Extraordinary_ acting in an excruciating film. I can see him as fierce, emotional, brave little Harry, and as the young man he grows into with a will of iron and compassion for almost everyone. With Michael Malarky (Enzo on _The Vampire Diaries_ ) as adult-Harry.

Other face-claims include Joe Dempsie for the twins; Chris Hemsworth for Bill Weasley; Natalie Dormer for Tonks; Matthew Goode for Cleitus Lestrange (to be introduced later); Oliver Jackson-Cohen for post-puberty Neville, because who didn't fall in love with Luke Crain in _The Haunting of Hill House_ ; Jude Law for Remus (because he was sooo calm and charismatic in _Crimes of Grindelwald_ ); Charles Dance for elderly Theseus Scamander (I imagine him as a cross between Winston Churchill and a heart-of-gold version of Tywin Lannister in old age!); George MacKay for Ron; Olivia Coleman for Andromeda; Jude Law's daughter, _Burberry_ model Iris Law for Susan Bones.

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Taking a Stand_

* * *

Finally, they let the poor boy go to the Hospital Wing, where undoubtedly the Matron would vie with Mrs Weasley for the privilege of caring for him. Ellaria felt a tug in the pit of her stomach, that she should have gone with him, perhaps - but she was a stranger to James and Lily's son, and she stifled a wince that perhaps she hadn't been needed here after all…she should have allowed them time in Mexico to recover, before dumping her children with their great-grandfather…

But, no…the twisting feeling in her stomach disappeared as she glanced across the office at the cut cheekbones and bright, grim eyes of her husband, now as much a stranger to her as the child of their best-friends.

She did need to be here, no matter what her maternal instincts were telling her about the mistake she had made in leaving Maia… There was a secret not even Dumbledore was privy to.

And it was time she told it…

She would have liked Scrimgeour here for this, too, though she distrusted him on a personal level. One did not become Head of the Auror Office without a significant interest in politics, and Ellaria _despised_ agendas that did not benefit the people as a whole. But Edgar's stern, resolute sister was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, outranking Scrimgeour, and she remained to bear witness, alongside Professor McGonagall and Sirius, the person who had more right to the secret than anyone - and the one person Ellaria thought would never learn it.

Ellaria reached into her pocket, thinking about the object she wanted, and felt reassured by the sting of cold metal against her fingertips, the little box clattering softly inside the folds of her coat.

"Something about Voldemort's speech struck me, Dumbledore," she confessed quietly, glancing from the closed door to Dumbledore, who suddenly seemed every year of his considerable age, the lines of his face deeply engraved like the oldest oak tree. He lifted eyes that seemed impossibly young, resting on her face. It had been a long time since she had seen them; he had to be remembering the last time they had met.

He'd never hear her apologise for being right all along; she wondered if he'd apologise for not taking her at her word.

"Which part of the speech?" Dumbledore asked.

"The 'steps he took' ages ago to prevent a mortal death," Ellaria said coldly, stifling a shudder. She was a seasoned Auror trained by the best of their age, sought after all over the world for her expertise - who had spent more time in warzones than out of them, raised her children amid revolution - but even she was shaken by Harry Potter's memories, Voldemort's rebirthing. "Bragging that they should have known he would rise again…"

Dumbledore frowned gently at her, as she placed a dented tin on the grand old desk.

Carefully, she cleared her mind of everything but the eight telepathic passwords, created by her daughter and kept safe within herself; no-one but Maia knew about the box, and even if they found out they would never torture the passwords out of her even if they tried. She filled herself with the sensations and memories associated with the passwords, sighing softly, and tapped the box delicately in the tune of Beethoven's _Symphony No 7_. Her lips twitching, because this was Rigel's addition to the spell, she spit onto the tin. The tarnished metal hissed and fizzed where her saliva met the metal, and with several clicks, the box collapsed. She sighed grimly, reaching over to move the lid aside, revealing several delicate vials glowing phosphorescently.

"And what was inside the tin without unlocking it?" Professor McGonagall asked, and Ellaria was suddenly sixteen again.

"Breath-mints," Ellaria said, smiling delicately. She _always_ kept the tin close. Only one person knew where to find it, or how to access it. _Pass the parcel…_ She hadn't anticipated it would be to Professor Dumbledore that she passed it, but was relieved that it was. She would not wish this odyssey upon anyone. Dumbledore deftly bottled Harry's memory of Lord Voldemort's rebirthing, emptying out the Pensieve for this new cache of memories.

"What's all this?" Sirius asked, frowning as she uncapped the vials and emptied their contents one by one into the Pensieve, all but the last, smallest vial. She kept that one aside.

Ellaria looked into her husband's stormy grey eyes. She took no joy in telling him, "Regulus choosing sides."

For the first time in over a decade, she took her husband's hand, as he frowned bemusedly at her; together they descended into the Pensieve, into memories she had not explored in years.

They watched horror - and devastating bravery. Nobility in its purest form - and true _sacrifice_.

Her eyes stung as she returned to Dumbledore's softly-lit study. Professor McGonagall was gasping with shock, her face bloodless and eyes bright; Madam Bones had pulled out a handkerchief and was blowing her nose loudly, her monocle tear-speckled. Dumbledore was more solemn than Ellaria had yet seen him, and he sat wearily behind his desk as if, finally, the burden was too great to bear standing up.

Sirius slumped to the floor, leaning against a bookcase as he panted and gasped for breath, head in his hands and pale as the brother they had just watched dragged beneath cursed waters by Inferi. First James and Lily reappearing during _Priori Incantatum_ …now this… Sirius' pale eyes were bright with the tears coursing over his cheekbones, dripping from his chin - cheekbones and a jawline so like her children's it made her stomach hurt, seeing them in him. They were hers, and yet, there they were in his face. Their faces. Their children.

Her eyes stung as she carefully decanted the memories from the Pensieve into their vials. Then she went to her knees before Sirius, locking her hands around his wrists to pull them gently from his face; his hands shook, and tears coursed freely down his face.

He gazed reproachfully at her, devastated. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She sighed heavily, her entire body aching with exhaustion. She said sadly, "He was gone, Sirius. We were at war… You were already so fraught with what James and Lily were going through, I couldn't…I couldn't risk putting more on you… You were so close to the edge, Sirius, I couldn't…"

For a long moment, Sirius stared at her, with those haunting grey eyes swimming with tears. _Fraught_... He had been close to the edge, they both knew it; they had all been. Seeing James and Lily had _broken_ Sirius.

He rested his head back against the bookshelf, blinking tears from his eyes, and the tiny tremble of his lower-lip undid her.

She cradled his hands against her chest, threading their fingers together…the way he used to do to her when she was distracted and upset…physically drawing her to him, calming her down with his nearness, his warmth, the gravitas that had developed in his late teens as the War raged and they realised they would be leaving Hogwarts and entering a battlefield.

"He was alone," Sirius whispered hoarsely, tears glinting down his cheeks. "And he was afraid."

"When you're afraid is the only time you can be brave," Ellaria whispered hoarsely. She dipped her head to kiss Sirius' trembling hands absently, the same way she did with her children when they were upset. "And he wasn't alone, Sirius…" She held his eye, and smiled tremulously, her eyes burning. "He was with someone who loved him more dearly than anyone, loves him _still_ , to this day."

Sirius gulped, and fidgeted, and freed a hand to roughly wipe his face. He cleared his throat, and sighed morosely, "Kreacher." He sniffed, after a minute, and squirmed, trying to stand; she helped pull him to his feet, once again startled by the reality of him being here, right in front of her…an Animagus…

It explained a lot; but stoked her curiosity. When had he done it?

And why had he kept it from her?

Returning to the Pensieve, she carefully decanted the memories back into their vials.

"And what was it he died for?" McGonagall asked, her voice constricted.

"A Horcrux," Ellaria said quietly, glancing up at Professor Dumbledore. "One part of Lord Voldemort's soul, encased in an ancient locket.

"And where is it now?" Dumbledore asked. Ellaria, in answer, picked up the last, smallest vial, and emptied it into the Pensieve.

Once more, they descended into the Pensieve, into the dreaded cave with its mirror-smooth lake, the eerie green light, the pale faces in the water. Ellaria sat, grim-faced, wrapping a bandage around her palm. She had no scarring in this memory; both her eyes were dark and sharp. A little girl sat beside her.

She couldn't be more than eleven or twelve, and Sirius felt it like a Whomping Willow branch to the stomach, seeing _his daughter_. Because there could be no confusion: She had inherited all her parents' looks, though she resembled Sirius more closely, from the softer, more feminine jawline to her extraordinary cheekbones, and the plump lips she hadn't yet grown into. She had large hands and long, elegant fingers - Sirius' hands, he had noticed them the moment she was born, and the constellation of moles and beauty-spots scattered down her front, inherited from Sirius, who had them in the exact same places - and her knuckles were white where she clutched her wand, the only indication that she was petrified beyond reason.

She looked painfully young, especially in this place, and Sirius opened his mouth to ask Ellaria, the real Ellaria, what the _fuck_ she had been thinking, bringing their daughter to this place - but he couldn't look away from her, for fear of what might happen, didn't want to raise his voice in dread of what the noise might disturb - it was a memory, but the tension felt far too real.

The eerie greenish light bleached his daughter's cocoa-caramel skin of colour; up close, his eyes glue to her, he noticed the freckles on her nose, and how the eerie light turned her naturally hazel eyes to black. Her mane of natural curls, which Sirius remembered painstakingly combing through and learning how to braid, were drawn away from her face into a big puff, some of the curls escaping. One of them tickled her neck, making her twitch, eyes wide; they flicked once to her mother, and she set her jaw.

The boat docked, and Ellaria climbed out. Their daughter looked like she was fighting a Sticking Charm, but she stood up, and took the hand Ellaria extended to help her onto the island.

Sirius frowned, wondering - why were they here? Kreacher had given Ellaria the real locket; what would be the point in taking the one Regulus had left?

It became very evident very quickly that neither Ellaria nor their daughter had any intention of drinking the eerie potion, or of removing Regulus' fake locket.

"What about Uncle Regulus?" It was a shock, to hear that name coming from her. Her eyes skittered across the surface of the lake, her expression pinched, grief-stricken, harrowed.

Ellaria sighed quietly, wincing as she glanced across the water. "They won't have left anything of him, love."

"Nothing?" For a second, the little girl looked five years younger; a little child looked to her mother for confirmation. Ellaria sighed softly, reaching out a ringed hand. She placed it gently over her daughter's heart.

"He's here. The rest doesn't matter," she said gently. Ellaria turned to their daughter, so like each other, and yet so different; Sirius was there in their daughter's face. "I know you're afraid, Maia," she said gently, and her words echoed unpleasantly over the still water. "When you're afraid is the only time you can be brave." Maia's eyes had not strayed from the still water, and she let out a shaky breath. She shivered from head to toe in complete and utter terror; but her features were set, determined. Her face showed no sign of fright or hesitation; her wand-hand was steady when she raised it, though her knuckles were white.

Then she nodded. And Ellaria disturbed the cursed denizens of the lake.

None of the witnesses moved, none made a single sound. All eyes were glued to the little girl, and to the ripples in the water, the dreaded Inferi waking.

His stomach hurt, and Sirius realised he had been holding his breath since the tiny boat docked. Slowly he hissed in a breath; and choked, when Maia performed the curse for Fiendfyre.

She had transformed; no longer was a child stood on that island with her mother. A proud, stern-faced sorceress commanded a legion of sentient monsters conjured from cursed flame, Chimaeras and serpents and dragons.

As the lake hissed, the flames swirling outwards, consuming everything they touched, Maia raised her chin, her shoulders straightening, a sense of calm emanating from her, of _power_ , and she held her wand aloft, as if conducting not a host of cursed flame-monsters, but an orchestra performing the loveliest of symphonies. She looked calm, now, coaxing the flames here and there, never letting them get too high, or go too far. She was _controlling_ the deadliest of curse-fires. The lake was evaporating into nothingness; its contents, reduced to the finest ash, if anything at all.

Mother and daughter were illuminated almost lovingly by the firelight, their beauty, their likeness, the glossiness of their hair, which for Maia was growing bushier in the intense humidity that made their gorgeous skin shine with sweat, their eyes glittering furiously.

Ellaria wiped sweat from her chin, eyeing the emptying cavern all around them. The inferno gentled, as the last of the Inferi was destroyed; and the flames started to grow smaller, the heat less fierce, and Ellaria reached into her pocket as a single basilisk of flame soared towards them.

In one move, Ellaria threw an ancient golden locket into mid-air; Maia's flaming basilisk roared, swallowing it. As the basilisk became a ribbon of flame, and then nothing more than a puff of smoke that billowed away from the island in a strange, breathless breeze, it was evident that the locket was gone, destroyed, just like everything else in Lord Voldemort's cave.

The evil of one of the greatest Dark wizards in centuries, undone by a little girl playing with fire.

The only thing that remained untouched was the island, and the eerie green potion protecting Regulus' locket.

Maia lowered her wand with a delicate sigh, looking tired; Ellaria reached down and cupped her daughter's face, the expression on her own very tender. She bent her head and kissed Maia's brow.

"It's gone," said Maia quietly, sounding relieved.

"Destroyed _utterly_ ," Ellaria told her, and the two of them seemed then to relax, as if a great burden had been lifted from them. Maia nodded, a stern set to her jaw, and they gazed out over what had once been a lake full of Inferi. It was now a chasm of ash, still hissing in places from the cursed-fire. Maia lifted her wand, one last time, and the tiny boat rose from the darkness, settling in front of them, mimicking the movement as if suspended in water. Maia climbed in first, then Ellaria, who quickly rearranged her features to conceal her unease as Maia sat down placidly, gazing at her. The boat started to drift in mid-air across the chasm, toward the shore that was now a precarious pathway, and the memory faded.

Back inside Dumbledore's office, Sirius gaped at his wife.

"How old?" he asked gruffly, and Ellaria gave him a measuring look before she answered.

"Maia was twelve," she said simply.

"What was it?" Madam Bones asked, frowning. "The locket."

"A Horcrux," Ellaria said quietly, her throat tight. She cleared it delicately, staring glumly at the glowing memory she decanted back into its little vial. "There are so few ways to destroy them… Maia found a way."

Something flickered in Dumbledore's eyes, like triumph, or even amusement, and he turned to one of the cabinets filled with delicate instruments. As he rummaged, Madam Bones frowned and asked what a Horcrux was; but it was Sirius who answered, grimly, explaining the Dark magic necessary to preserve a piece of one's severed soul into an object for safekeeping; "There were books in my parents' house about them, I'm sure I remember…must've been how Regulus recognised what Voldemort had done…"

"That's where I learned what Regulus had discovered," Ellaria said, and Sirius frowned at her, bewildered. "You were alleged to be Voldemort's right-hand, Sirius; your mother left everything to us, I'm sure she felt you'd finally shown true pureblood pride for the first time in your life…she left you the Gringotts vault…actually, Professor - you can make use of the house, if Sirius agrees."

"My _parents'_ house?"

"Yours, now," Ellaria said softly. She had set foot inside it once, and then never again; she had taken the books out of the library and taken in Kreacher and left the place behind. She knew how her husband felt about that house; she knew the ghosts wandering those halls. She hadn't wanted her children anywhere near the place where their father had been so unhappy, where their uncle had been brainwashed into joining the Death Eaters by fanatics… She had found photographs of Bellatrix Lestrange, and fought the urge to burn the place to the ground, thinking of solemn Frank and of kind Alice, and of their little boy…

"My father put every practical protection known to wizards on that house," Sirius said, frowning at Ellaria; he flicked his grey eyes at Dumbledore. "Ideal for a base of operations; located in London. Plenty of rooms."

"You are sure?"

"Take it or I'll have my daughter burn it to the ground with Fiendfyre," Sirius growled low; Ellaria was not unfamiliar with her husband's childhood memories in his family home. He had run away at sixteen and never looked back. The Dementors would have starved, had it not been for Hogwarts; Sirius had so very few happy childhood memories. She touched her palm gently to his lower-back, and his glower softened.

"I'll have Kreacher go on ahead; no-one's set foot inside that place for a decade," Ellaria said. She wondered what the grand old house would look like now, and already regretted the time and patience it would take to rid the house of its Dark artefacts.

"Kreacher? He's still alive?" Sirius gaped.

"Oh, yes," Ellaria smiled, for the first time all night. "He's been with us since your mother died." Sirius gaped at her. Dumbledore turned from the cabinet, sitting back down behind his desk, and they tabled a conversation about his family's despised elf in favour of staring at a very old diary with a great singed hole gored into its centre.

"Are we trying to match tit for tat here?" Sirius asked, frowning at the book, but Ellaria reached for it, turning it over in her hands… She saw the name, and glanced up sharply at Dumbledore.

"I think perhaps we may take a seat for this," Dumbledore sighed, glancing at McGonagall and Madam Bones. He withdrew his wand and twisted it in mid-air; squashy armchairs appeared for the two witches, a cosy loveseat for her and Sirius. Purely on instinct, they reached out and held hands between them.

She felt the same sense of foreboding in the pit of her stomach that she had felt when she had been called up to Dumbledore's office to be told the majority of her family had been murdered.

It wasn't quite as bad; but it was still earth-shattering.

"It is time we discussed your godson's academic career," Dumbledore began, his eyes lingering on her and Sirius.

* * *

 **A.N.** : Oh, how things would have been different…

I keep seeing fan-art where Harry's scar isn't just you know, the neat little bolt they gave him in the films, but instead is like lightning literally ripping the sky open, covering half his forehead - I like that. Considering it's Dark magic and he's the only person in history to suffer a curse-scar from that particular failed curse, I think it might be a bit more dramatic, you know?

Also, I wanted to work it into the story somewhere, where we compare Regulus' sacrifice with Snape's. Snape was blackmailed into switching sides because _he_ was in agony over Lily's death in spite of Voldemort's promise that he could keep her just as long as he got to obliterate her baby, Snape tyrannised children and became worse than James ever was, for years, he only ever thought of himself and his own pain; whereas Regulus sacrificed his life, without ever thinking about himself. He went to his death quietly, bravely, and made sure Kreacher couldn't be discovered or his family killed for what he was about to do. I'm a big fan of Regulus, and really wish Sirius had lived long enough in canon for Harry to tell them about him. I will be bringing it up in this story that Lily was once friends with Snape, and Remus and Sirius have to try and explain that…


	6. Concerning Harry

**A.N.** : Hi everyone! Another update.

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Concerning Harry_

* * *

Dumbledore started telling them a story, about a skinny, brave, neglected little boy who was collected by Rubeus Hagrid and reintroduced to the Wizarding world after a very long decade. A reasonably gifted, compassionate young boy with a flair for Quidditch and a fierce sense of loyalty; a boy who battled trolls he unwittingly locked in the girls' toilets with a classmate; became the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century; searched the Forbidden Forest for injured unicorns, serving detention for transferring an illegal dragon hatchling to young wizards flying to a Romanian sanctuary; may have been responsible for Severus Snape catching fire during a Quidditch match; and together with his best-friends, battled through a series of frustratingly clever, creative tasks to confront a wizard possessed by Lord Voldemort…and thwarted him a second time…

And then came Harry's second year. Sirius was on the edge of his seat, staring at Dumbledore as if mesmerised, drinking in every word of Harry's escapades and adventures, stealing Arthur Weasley's enchanted _Ford_ Anglia and flying it to Hogwarts, crashing into the Whomping Willow - it was the first time in nearly fourteen years Ellaria had heard her husband _laugh_.

"After your escapades, Mr Black, I've no doubt you find it amusing," McGonagall said shrewdly, eyeing Sirius, who flashed a wolfish grin at the Transfiguration teacher he had always respected above all the other professors.

"One detention and fifty points from Gryffindor, though, Professor - you've got _soft_ ," Sirius chided, teasing McGonagall, who raised an eyebrow. "You gave out far worse punishments to me and James and even we didn't dare flout the Statute of Secrecy."

"Only because you couldn't get your hands on a Muggle vehicle," Ellaria remarked, patting Sirius' knee gently. He flashed her an easy grin, then seemed surprised to realise it was her he was smiling at. "What happened after that, Professor?"

"There were attacks. First was Mr Filch's cat, Mrs Norris. She was found Petrified…" The Chamber of Secrets, a true myth, a legend passed down to anyone chosen to enter Slytherin House, was _real_. Ellaria jolted when Dumbledore told them that Harry was a Parselmouth: because of the scar across his forehead, he shared certain powers with Lord Voldemort. Ellaria narrowed her eyes on the professor, knowing but not bringing it up in front of the others that he was hiding something…something she suspected, after hearing the rumours that Harry felt pain whenever Lord Voldemort was angry, or close by…

Harry's friend, the Muggle-born, Hermione, had been Petrified; Sirius exclaimed at that, though he knew she had recovered without any permanent side-effects. There had been no deaths, but Fudge had carted Hagrid off to Azkaban - without any evidence whatsoever… Hagrid had been set up by Lord Voldemort while they were both still at school, to take the blame for the death of Myrtle Warren - _Moaning Myrtle_. Racial prejudice had gone against Hagrid, a thirteen-year-old half-giant outcast who collected monsters under his bed, especially when the finger was pointed by the upstanding, handsome young Head Boy, Tom Riddle…

It was _twelve-year-old_ Harry who had discovered this. After a thousand years and ten times as many searches, _Harry_ had figured out where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was, and battled the Basilisk that had lain dormant for a thousand years within it, to save Ginny Weasley, the younger-sister of his best-friend, who had been slowly but surely possessed by the diary she was pouring her heart into…the diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle…Lord Voldemort…

Without even knowing what he was truly doing, Harry had destroyed Riddle's diary, using the fang of the Basilisk he had slain with the sword of Godric Gryffindor he had pulled out of the Sorting Hat.

Unwittingly, Harry had destroyed one of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes.

Sirius and Ellaria sat somewhat limply in their loveseat, heads aching from the tsunami of information Dumbledore was imparting: Something mingling deep pride, amusement and a touch of hysteria made Sirius' eyes dance the way Ellaria remembered, but he had reacted viscerally when Dumbledore told them Harry had almost died because of Quirrell, and that the next year, the Basilisk fang Harry had used to destroy the diary had in fact pierced his arm when he killed the snake, and would have died, a second time, had it not been for Fawkes and his miraculous tears.

Worse was that Dumbledore had allowed it all to happen - even, Ellaria suspected, _encouraged_ it. There were details missing from the narrative that she knew instinctively Dumbledore didn't want attention drawn to - not in front of Madam Bones, or even in front of his highly-respected deputy, Professor McGonagall.

And then came the events of last year, following Sirius' escape from Azkaban. The details were shocking; Madam Bones sat with her mouth open and her monocle dangling over her robes. It was Sirius who told this story, mostly, filling in the details where Dumbledore had no first-hand knowledge. But what Dumbledore did know, he told, including the encouragement of the use of a Time-Turner to affect the outcome of a night that could have gone _very_ wrong, and a true accounting of Fudge's reaction to the news that Sirius Black was innocent, the evidence - Peter Pettigrew, cursed and magically chained - drifting before his very eyes.

They barely touched on it but Sirius narrowed his eyes shrewdly when Dumbledore told them about Harry's rivalry with a Slytherin boy named Draco Malfoy. Harry's time at school seemed to be marked with ever more malicious bouts of bullying - which, more often than not, and to his credit, Harry managed to rise above. Sirius mentioned letters he had received from Harry over the last year, specifically when Ron Weasley wasn't speaking to him, when the school had turned on him, wearing _Potter Stinks_ badges, Rita Skeeter making him miserable…

"Lucius Malfoy's son," Sirius said quietly, eyeing Dumbledore. He glanced at Ellaria. "That'll be Cissy's boy."

"He's a bright boy," Professor McGonagall said fairly, glancing at Dumbledore. "Second in his year only to Miss Granger. I think it does him some good, to strive to beat Hermione's marks. He'd languish in his own brilliance, otherwise…" She cast an imperious look at Sirius, who smirked at the floor. Troublemakers, yes, but hadn't he and James provoked each other to achieving excellence? The three of them, him, James, Remus, the brightest kids in the school, consistently the top of every class throughout their seven years at school. The number of detentions they received didn't change the quality of their classwork or written assignments…

"I believe the root of Mr Malfoy's antagonism toward Harry is the rejection of an offer of friendship," Dumbledore said sadly, shaking his head. "Sadly, Draco has not been helped by his upbringing…a shame…a very talented boy…"

"Talented? He sounds vicious," Ellaria frowned.

"Weren't we all, at that age?" Sirius said quietly, and she glanced at him. Sirius hadn't been known for his contrition; over a decade in Azkaban had changed his perspective. He was looking down at his hands, the muscle ticking in his jaw. He frowned at Dumbledore. "Malfoy's son really offered Harry friendship?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. Sirius pulled a face, almost startled.

"He must have had some nerve, to put himself forward," Ellaria murmured, reading Sirius' expression, "what with his family's values."

"Lucius and Cissy's son, friends with the half-blood who vanquished their beloved Dark Lord," Sirius scoffed, shaking his head. His lips twitched toward a smile. "I almost want to encourage Harry to pursue it, just to see the look on Cissy's face."

"It will be a stretch, but it may be advantageous to all involved," Dumbledore said, which made the smile disappear from Sirius' face, perplexed.

"I was joking, Dumbledore."

"After what we saw in the graveyard, we know Lord Voldemort has already been making his plans," Dumbledore said heavily. "The Dementors, giants… He wishes to rebuild his strength; and his Death Eaters now come with that most valuable commodity - heirs to his cause. Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy - these are all names of students currently studying at Hogwarts. Those men in the graveyard tonight would do anything Voldemort asks of them, to save their own lives… And what could be more advantageous to Lord Voldemort but to place his youngest, his fiercest warriors amongst impressionable, frightened children."

"Their children, Professor?" McGonagall balked, paling. "Their own children, offered up like lambs?"

"As we saw in the Pensieve…I believe Voldemort would no more think of his loyal followers' children than he would their house-elves," Dumbledore sighed grimly. "Except, perhaps, to exact an excruciating revenge upon their parents for their failures and disloyalty. We saw how his faithful Death Eaters cowered before his wrath in the graveyard…we saw how Pettigrew's loyalty was rewarded…their choices have been made, were made long ago… If we are to be successful in combating Lord Voldemort this time, preventing him from ever gaining the same stranglehold of terror he had last time…we must prevent as many from joining him as possible… After what has happened between them, I find it doubtful Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy will ever become bosom companions - "

"But it just might save Malfoy's life," Sirius interrupted darkly, his eyes on the Pensieve but far away, unfocused. He was thinking of the brother he had abandoned.

"Professor Dumbledore, we'd have more success dancing the tango with one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts than getting those two boys to have a civil conversation," McGonagall said baldly, and Dumbledore's beard twitched.

"Perhaps," he chuckled softly. He glanced at Madam Bones. "Amelia, you've been very quiet."

"Why hasn't the Ministry been informed of all of this?"

"It wasn't necessary for the Ministry to be informed of what occurred at Hogwarts under my supervision," Dumbledore said plainly. "Harry Potter has ended up in scrape after scrape, yes…"

"But only because you let him end up there," Ellaria said quietly, and Dumbledore nodded his head.

"Harry and Lord Voldemort have been inextricably linked since the beginning," Dumbledore sighed. "More so, after this evening, than ever before. Voldemort met his downfall when he marked Harry out as his rival; I wished to allow Harry to test himself, to truly learn what a wizard is capable of, what he has it in himself to be, beyond Potions assignments and Quidditch practice. Mr Fudge was informed of all that occurred regarding the Chamber of Secrets; still, Mr Malfoy roams free, while Rubeus Hagrid has yet to receive a formal apology and pardon for being, putting it bluntly, one of the earliest and unacknowledged victims of Lord Voldemort. Last June, when the truth was revealed about Sirius' innocence, Mr Fudge cared only to make a quick and morally deplorable resolution by sending a Dementor to seek out and destroy Sirius' soul, for the embarrassment he had caused the Ministry… And you saw how he reacted to the truth of Lord Voldemort's return… I did not inform the Ministry, my dear Madam Bones, because I place no faith in its desire or ability to offer protection or affect change based on the information disseminated."

Madam Bones sighed heavily. Ellaria caught Sirius' eye briefly, and even McGonagall looked chastened, as if they had all been brought up before Dumbledore for wrongdoing.

"And now, Professor?"

"Now… Now Lord Voldemort has returned to a tangible body," Dumbledore said. "This nation is about to become paralysed with terror at the very idea. We few who witnessed Harry's memories are privileged to the information of his plans. We few here can do all in our power to ensure Regulus Black's sacrifice was not in vain. Regulus was the first to discover Voldemort's greatest vulnerability." He looked solemnly at Sirius, whose eyes were glittering as he gazed determinedly at the rug at their feet.

"Piece by piece, we can destroy Voldemort," Ellaria said quietly. "Rather than ignore the danger, we can be proactive, acknowledging the threat - and reassuring people that we are on the offensive this time. That we will not cower, that we will fight to the death to destroy him - because he _can_ be destroyed."

"But - Madam Bones - it is _imperative_ that no-one outside of this office knows the truth about Voldemort's weakness, his Horcruxes."

"Horcruxes? You think there are _more_ , Dumbledore?" McGonagall blurted, looking stricken. Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"I do believe so, Minerva. As Ellaria said, Voldemort was bragging this evening in the graveyard… But most importantly, should Voldemort realise we know his secret, it will become infinitely more difficult to track down and destroy the pieces of his soul," Dumbledore said, gazing inscrutably at Madam Bones, who nodded slowly. At length, she sighed.

"Term will end soon," Madam Bones said. "I'd been looking forward to afternoon-teas with my niece and nephews… Perhaps Potter would do better to stay here this summer, at Hogwarts."

"No," Dumbledore said, with finality. "Harry must return to his aunt in Little Whinging."

Ellaria glanced at Madam Bones, at Sirius, who looked like he wanted to argue, his eyes narrowed on the headmaster; subtly, she placed a hand on Sirius' thigh, and he glanced at her, understanding the look she gave him. _Bide your time_... "It's Lily's blood… She died to protect him, it's…ancient and complicated magic - magic Voldemort has only contempt for, otherwise he would never have dared take Harry's blood tonight…"

"Until Harry is of age, he must return to Little Whinging," Dumbledore said placidly, and Ellaria increased her grip as Sirius tensed beside her. "Lily's murder, her sacrifice to protect her son, allowed for ancient magic to be evoked, protecting Harry. He must return to his aunt, his mother's sister, to strengthen this magic. Harry is protected by Lily's sacrifice."

"Very well, then, but, Dumbledore, we will meet again to discuss alternative protection for the summer," Madam Bones said sternly. "Obscure old magic is all very well, but we need eyes on him, if everything you've told us is accurate - which I fear it is, after what Susan's told me about being classmates with Harry Potter."

"Mr Potter has inherited his father's knack for landing in mischief and his mother's fierce devotion to fighting for what is right," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Naturally he missteps on occasion."

" _Missteps_ …" Madam Bones snorted, glancing over at Sirius with a reproving look, as if Sirius had goaded Harry into everything. Ellaria had a brief, painful vision of the life Harry might have had; she felt entirely confident declaring that in actual fact Sirius would have encouraged Harry every misstep of the way.

Madam Bones shook her head and gave Sirius another look, this one stern, bordering on McGonagall-levels of quelling no-nonsense seriousness. "And I'll be chasing you for your testimony, Black, in full, and in _excruciating_ detail…Mr Lupin, too… I do wish I'd been able to have a moment with him. Susan's favourite teacher, you know. The first Outstanding mark she ever received in Defence Against the Dark Arts. She still talks about his lessons…" Sirius smiled, proudly, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. He stood, and swept Madam Bones an elegant bow.

"Your servant, Amelia," he said, and Madam Bones grasped hands with Ellaria, McGonagall and Sirius before making her exit.

"Minerva… Might I ask that you, Filius, Pomona and Severus assemble the students in the Great Hall? It is late, yes, but necessary; as I said earlier, understanding is the first step in acceptance. Our students must know and appreciate the very great danger we are all in… Also… I regret that Durmstrang Institute is now bereft of a Headmaster. After what has happened, and what inevitably must come next, I would like you to invite the Durmstrang students into the castle. House them in Gryffindor Tower, if you please… Tell them that I shall be inviting them here to this office tomorrow… And, if Madame Maxime consents, her own students are welcome to sleep in Ravenclaw Tower; they shall also be invited here tomorrow."

"Very good, Albus," McGonagall said, sharing a look with the Headmaster. She turned, and fixed Sirius with the kind of look that had preceded him landing detention for a term. "We will have a very long discussion later, Mr Black."

Sirius raised his eyebrows; when the professor had disappeared, he grimaced. "She can't still give me detention, can she?"

"After the ruckus you and James created in her classroom, Sirius, it may be a gesture to allow her to try," Dumbledore advised, his eyes twinkling.

They were left in the study, and Ellaria suddenly realised it was just them. Just her, and Sirius, and Professor Dumbledore. The two would-be guardians of James and Lily's son, and the one who had actually taken the mantle for himself.

Against Lily and James' wishes. Their _wills_.

Ellaria gazed at the professor, who lifted his eyes to her knowingly. "Ah. _Now_ we get into it."

It was a brief but passionate discussion that bordered on argument: Ellaria's cool nature had always tempered Sirius' violent outbursts. The two people James and Lily had trusted and discussed their child's future with, whom they had trusted would raise him if anything happened to them, had reappeared in Harry's life. They were willing to _share_ Harry, but Ellaria was adamant: Gone were the days where Dumbledore alone made decisions concerning Harry's future. They, who had known James and Lily the best, who knew how they would want situations to be handled where they concerned their son, were taking back as much of the reins as possible.

"Remus should be here for this," Sirius said, panting slightly, calming himself down. Dumbledore's eyes were glittering like fireworks, and Ellaria's blood was boiling, but after tonight, and what Dumbledore had told them of Harry's last few years, it had felt good to vent.

They were allowed to be afraid for their godson, and heart-broken for what he had endured.

Especially as they had been denied their right to be there and protect him from it.

"We'll fill him in," Ellaria said gently. "His perspective is always invaluable."

Dumbledore nodded. He sighed softly to himself, then his lips twitched into a smile, "Chocolate and crumpets…a shame Remus felt it was necessary to leave us. Truly an excellent teacher - and a wonderful man…"

"Then invite him back," Ellaria said, giving Dumbledore a cool look.

"He's still beating himself up that it was his transformation that cost my freedom," Sirius said, shaking his head, knowing no invitation would be tempting enough for Moony; the possibility of what _might_ have happened that night still haunted Remus. "As if it mattered. What could be more freeing than my best-friends and family knowing the truth, after all these years?"

"Some of us already knew the truth, Sirius," Ellaria said quietly, glancing at her husband. And Dumbledore, who knew everything, hadn't believed her. Ellaria and Sirius held each other's gaze for a long moment.

"Until your name is officially cleared, Sirius, I think it prudent you resume your disguise while around the school," Dumbledore said, his eyes sharp on Sirius. "You are welcome to stay, until the end of term."

"What do you need us to do?" Sirius asked.

"Keep a sharp eye," Dumbledore said. "We are about to be surrounded by thousands of very frightened, very confused children. They will undoubtedly seek reassurance and answers…and with what Harry has revealed to us, there may be repercussions for him speaking out, even within the walls of this castle."

"I'll keep an eye on him."

"Then…I would suggest returning to the Hospital Wing. I do not wish Harry to be disturbed while I address the school. I must…think of what to tell them all…"

"We'll leave you to it," Ellaria said sadly. "I'll say goodbye to Harry, Dumbledore, and then I'll head out. I'll need to corral my contacts. If Remus hasn't reached Granddad by now, I'll let him know; if anyone's well-connected, it's him. And we'll need the Wizengamot."

"Excellent," Dumbledore nodded, though the sparkle had disappeared from his eyes. He sighed. "I shall need to speak to the Diggorys… There has not been a death at Hogwarts for over fifty years…"

"It's not your fault, Dumbledore, any more than Moaning Myrtle's was Hagrid's," Sirius said, frowning at the Headmaster. "We read the signs as best we could."

"But too late, my dear boy," Dumbledore sighed, gazing over at Sirius. "Just a little too late."

"Would it have mattered?" Sirius suddenly asked, frowning. "If Harry had taken the Cup when Diggory pressed him to? Either tonight or sometime soon… How many of our classmates were like Cedric - just, and brave? And how many of us are left?"

"You believe Cedric Diggory's death was inevitable?"

"I believe Cedric Diggory was brave and clever, and decent. And he would've fought, the same way Gideon and Edgar and Marlene and Dorcas did…and he might've died, the same way they all did," Sirius said heavily. "Or maybe he would have survived - but _altered_. War's been declared, Dumbledore; none of us are getting out of it unscathed."

"Perhaps don't tell the students _that_ ," Ellaria said.

"My point is - Harry will always regret Diggory's death, what he believes to be his part in it, insisting Diggory share the Cup with him," Sirius said heavily, and they all knew he was speaking from personal experience. "He'll always think it was in part his fault; Harry needs to know that it's not. That there is no _sense_ to the devastation of war. Diggory was the first…and he won't be the last, before it's over…"

It was all true, of course; but they left the Headmaster to try and think of what to say to the parents of his murdered student, and to the thousands of frightened children waiting to be told what was going on.

Down the spiral staircase, they entered a darkened corridor, and in the distance, they heard the murmur of hundreds of subdued voices, all converging on the Great Hall. They were waiting to be told that their classmate had been killed by Lord Voldemort, who had returned after nearly fourteen years.

"It doesn't feel like last time," Sirius said finally, and Ellaria looked over at him. He was watching through a window, and she approached, seeing tiny lights bobbing across the grounds; moonlight shimmered off the lake, and she could just see the shadows of a few dozen people approaching the castle.

"No… We have the advantage…and the best part is, he doesn't even realise it," Ellaria said grimly, her stomach hurting. It had been a long time since she last thought about Regulus' final act. Since she had taken Maia to the cave, they had both made an effort to put the fate of her brother-in-law, Maia's uncle, out of their minds. Maia's nightmares about Inferi had only recently started to abate… But dredging up the past was uncomfortable; and Sirius was experiencing this trauma for the very first time.

"Harry shouldn't have survived tonight." An arm crept around her waist, drawing her closer, and Ellaria wondered if Sirius was even aware of doing it, but he rested his head against hers, holding her close, the way he used to. It was so intimate and so familiar, and so strange, after all these years… She relaxed in his arms, savouring the feeling. His voice was hoarse when he told her, "This isn't what they wanted for him."

"No," she agreed, her eyes burning. James and Lily had both been alive tonight, not in _Priori Incantatum_ , but in their fierce, brave boy, the boy who didn't back down to Death Eaters, the boy who had not abandoned his friend, even after his death. "But they would be fiercely proud of him, for getting on with it…and he enjoys Quidditch, at least." A miserable chuckle.

"You should see him fly, Ell…he's mesmerising," he sighed. Slowly, hands on her hips, he drew away from her; his eyes glowed in the moonlight streaming through the windows, the shadows cutting his cheekbones, carving his lips. Grief and guilt played across his features, something closer to shame…she knew him too well, still, even after all this time. His face had matured, but it was still Sirius. "Where are they, Ell? You weren't there… Where are they?"

She stared up into those familiar, mercurial eyes. The last time she had seen them, they had been maddened, vibrant, and drenched in tears. He had sat gasping and sobbing on the edge of the tiny little bed in the second bedroom, cuddling the warm bundle that was their sleeping daughter; before he had left, he had bent over the cot and kissed their son, lingering to gaze and watch their baby boy squirm and snuffle in his sleep.

"They're at Granddad's," she said gently.

"You weren't… When I got out - I tried to find you. When I heard about Frank and Alice, I thought - "

"We're alright. Sirius, we're all alright." She gripped his face in her hands, gasping softly, and pressed her forehead against his, nose-to-nose. Because they were.

"Moony told me…" He broke off, tears dripping from his chin as his lip trembled, and Ellaria knew exactly what Remus had told him.

"Sirius - we're alright. They're _exceptional_ ," she whispered fiercely.

His jaw worked, he licked his lips, and he asked tremulously, his voice breaking, "Can I meet them?"

She beamed, telling her husband honestly, "They're your headache now."

He could barely meet her eye, the rare exhibition of contrition. Grief flickered across his face, darkening those mercurial eyes. "I left you…"

"I could've stopped you," she interrupted, placing her fingertips over his lips. "And you would have hated me for it forever…" She had understood that more than she understood anything else in the world. Stop him from trying, or let him go after the monster that had betrayed them all, either way, she would have lost him.

He closed his eyes, reaching for her wrist, to hold her in place as he tenderly brushed kisses against her fingertips, regret heavy in every line of his face as his eyes glinted with fierce, almost angry tears. "I… I am sorrier than you can ever know," Sirius told her solemnly.

Holding his gaze, she told him, "I believe you."

He pulled her closer, and Ellaria's eyes burned as she reached up to sift her hands through his hair, clasping the back of his head, nuzzling her nose against his. His voice hoarse, he told her, "I've _missed you_."

And they embraced, holding each other in their arms for the first time in nearly fourteen years, just holding each other close, as if they had just returned from another raid, another mission, another close call in a duel with former schoolmates who had chosen a different path. Thrilled and relieved to be in each other's arms again, to be _home_.

When the world had ended, they had made a home together. No matter where they were, when they were with each other, they were home.

They hadn't been home in nearly fourteen years. His eyes burned bright in the moonlight as they broke apart, and she swallowed, and nodded, her stomach cramping with excitement, anticipation, and she was already reaching for him when he snatched for her hand, striding to the now-empty Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office.

Lord Voldemort had returned.

The last decade barely mattered; they were together now. They were _home_.

His kisses were as fierce and fiery as she remembered, passionate and teasing, aggressive, lingering, breathless; the door locked, they fumbled out of their clothes and met with an anguished groan against the wall, his arms locked around her waist, her hands gripping his hair, and they came together for the first time in fourteen years, exploring their bodies, familiarising themselves after all these years, re-learning every tiny detail… They communicated more in those fierce thrusts and hissed gasps than could be said in hours; tender kisses, sharp thrusts of powerful hips, delicate teasing of special spots…he felt her scars, learned the changes of her body, as she did his; she understood his grief, his trauma, and his regret, and shared her own. And when they were done, and she shivered and trembled on weak knees, she wasn't the only one. He threw his robes on, his thick body heaving with pants, wide-eyed; he helped her dress, his hands shaking, and drew her unexpectedly close, for a deep, lingering kiss, cradling her face in his hands, savouring their kiss, their closeness, the renewal of an old intimacy.

"I wasn't expecting that," he whispered tenderly, gazing almost mournfully at her.

"Always play with their minds," she murmured, and Sirius flashed her a wolfish grin, kissing the tip of her nose. She smiled softly, gazing back, and told him, almost teasingly, "I think I'll let McGonagall rake you over the coals."

"She'll enjoy that," Sirius said, smiling, and he glanced around the office, still panting softly. His eyes landed on Mad-Eye's trunk. "You still have those keys, Ell?"

"In the lock, see," she pointed out, but he was already turning the key, squatting in front of the battered old trunk. Poor Alastor… "What are you looking for?"

" _This_ …" Sirius said, a moment later, reopening the trunk a third time, and with a look of relief mingled with triumph, he fished out a bit of old parchment.

"The Map that Crouch mentioned?" she asked, curious, and she was reminded again of the secrets between them as Sirius flashed her a wolfish grin, slamming the trunk lid shut and locking it again, replacing the key in the first lock where he had found it.

"Wouldn't want it falling into the wrong hands," he said, with a mischievous grin. "Come on, we should get up to the Hospital Wing." He tucked the Map into his robes, and transformed after giving her another deep, lingering kiss that warmed her from the inside out, and making her realise that she had been cold and uptight for longer than she could remember. He had always teased out the warmth in her, the…the _fun_ , the gentleness and the charisma…the girl she had been before her family was murdered; he reminded her who she truly was. She had trusted Sirius; around him, she allowed herself to be that woman, even after her family's murder, even in the midst of war.

They had been so _intimate_ with each other; they were the only people in the world they had trusted implicitly not to judge, to allow themselves vulnerability and grief and moments of doubt. They had picked each other up, put the pieces back together, loved one another. Loved the children they had chosen to bring into the world in spite of all their grief and loss and a war with next to no hope on the horizon…

The Hospital Wing was quiet when they reached it. Only four beds were occupied - Fleur Delacour, cursed by Crouch, had several potions bottles glinting on her bedside table; Krum, who had been placed under the Imperius Curse, was nursing a bandaged head; Alastor Moody was shrouded by a glinting restorative healing charm; and Harry, who was tucked behind folding screens, with the plump, red-haired Mrs Weasley holding vigil at his bedside with her knitting out, gazing into nothingness as her fingers flew.

She didn't hear their footsteps, and jumped out of her skin when Sirius gently touched her shoulder.

"Oh! You gave me such a fright!" She used her knitting to mop her face, which they tactfully ignored was shining with tears. "Oh, what must you think of me? I - I've just b-been thinking about…about Gideon and F-Fabian…"

"Your twins look very like them," Sirius muttered, remembering the stocky, grinning boys on Harry's Quidditch team. Mrs Weasley looked startled, and Sirius remembered he was a convicted murderer on the run; he shouldn't know what her children looked like.

"Sometimes it's as if - as if they open their mouths, and my brothers sp-speak," Mrs Weasley gasped, wiping her face again, smiling tremulously. "Th- the children are gone, a Prefect came for them…"

"They've all been asked down to the Great Hall. Dumbledore's…going to tell them what's happened," Ellaria said gently.

"You can go to your children, if you like; I'll stay with Harry," Sirius said, gazing down at his godson. He truly was a small, skinny little thing - just like James had been. Perfect for Seeking: Not advantageous against grown Dark wizards. But here he was… The fourth time he had escaped Voldemort's attempts to murder him… That was more than many adult wizards had managed, Lily and James included…

"Oh, no, really, I should - I should stay…"

"There are going to be a lot of very frightened children, without their parents to comfort them," Ellaria said gently. "A mother's presence may do a world of good."

Mrs Weasley gazed at Ellaria for a moment, then sniffed, wiped her face one last time, and nodded. For a startling moment, Sirius saw her brothers in the resolute, stern set to Mrs Weasley's expression. He had never known much about Gideon and Fabian's sister, though he knew they had one…she was the first to be told when Gideon and Fabian were murdered - it had taken five Death Eaters, four of whom they took down before Dolohov overpowered the wounded brothers.

His hand shook, curled around Ellaria's, and his eyes burned, but he focused on Harry. He focused on Harry, and the warmth of Ellaria's skin and he pushed away the memories.

He remembered Gideon and Fabian. He remembered the day they died.

He and James had _cried_. Moony had been underground; he'd smashed a teapot against the wall when he resurfaced, and they could finally tell him, one of the rare reactions to the many deaths that had truly shocked his friends.

Ellaria squeezed his hand gently; and he knew she was remembering, too, when she peered into his face. She leaned in, giving his cheek a gentle kiss, lingering for a moment.

"I'll just say goodbye to Harry…" Ellaria sighed, approaching the cot, where Harry was curled up, his expression utterly content.

"A Sleeping Draught?"

"Dreamless Sleep," Mrs Weasley nodded, gazing down sadly at Harry. "He's ended up here at the end of _every_ year…first the Philosopher's Stone, then that dirty great Basilisk…" She cast a very shrewd look Sirius' way. "And now this…"

"Brave boy," Sirius murmured, as Ellaria approached, tenderly stroking the untidy hair from Harry's forehead. In sleep, he looked even younger, small and skinny for his age, with a dirty great scar hacked across his forehead like great forks of lightning, raised and pink and ugly. He would always have that scarring… Sirius remembered the first time he had seen the curse's damage, felt his knees buckle under the weight of his grief, his guilt, seeing the still-fresh cuts glaring at him from under a tuft of untidy black hair. He tilted his head, and with his eyes closed, and the scar out of view, Sirius could almost believe it was James lying there, as if he was just recuperating from another broken limb during Quidditch against the Ravenclaw team in their fourth year.

Ellaria bent down and kissed Harry's forehead where it was unblemished from scarring, caught Sirius' eye, gave him a tender kiss that made his toes curl, and escorted Mrs Weasley out of the Hospital Wing.

Sirius sighed, transformed, and climbed onto the end of the bed to curl up at his godson's feet.

* * *

 **A.N.** : I want to show the difference between Mrs Weasley's style of parenting and that of Ellaria, and the inevitable clash that will come when Mrs Weasley tries to take control, as she always seems to. I'm rethinking Mrs Weasley throughout the series, and she's… I love her, alright; but she's actually not the nicest person when she disapproves of you, for whatever reason. I'm actually quite disgusted that she believed Rita Skeeter's article about Hermione, giving her a tiny Easter egg as a passive-aggressive way of conveying what she thought of her son's friend; I'm also horrified by her attitude toward the twins and their passion and lifelong ambition; and her below-the-belt comment to Sirius about being in Azkaban.


	7. Spread the Word

**A.N.** : If anyone cares to explore, I've created a Pinterest board, _Maia - Eldest of the Pleiades_. There are _sections_.

I've just realised that I'm annoyed that we never got to see Tonks and Remus' wedding. I'm reviewing _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_ , and I just _don't care about Fleur_. I want to see more of the tumultuous relationship between Tonks and Remus.

I want to see _Tonks_ flooring everyone with how _elegant_ she looks, I want Remus' vows to reduce Hagrid to tears, I want them all gathered to watch _Remus_ , the best teacher they ever had, the person who is the kindest and most self-loathing person they've ever met, get _married_ to this vivacious, courageous woman who doesn't _care_ that he's a werewolf. I'm actually getting irrationally angry about the whole thing.

And let's be honest, if Death Eaters had ambushed her wedding, Tonks would've pulled off her veil, revealed the combat boots she was wearing under her dress, grabbed her wand from her thigh-holster, fought side by side with her husband to hex the bejeezus out of everyone, and then knocked the cake over trying to cut Remus a piece when the dust settles and everyone's gaping because they've seen Tonks in action and she is _insanely_ _talented_ Auror, and they are a _power couple_.

I'd like to know, does anyone else share this opinion, or is it just me?

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Spread the Word_

* * *

When he finally woke, it was to find a dog curled up on his feet, and someone rustling a newspaper that glowed in the noon sun, spearing his eyes. Harry also realised that he felt wonderfully well-rested, and that all his aches and scrapes had been expertly healed by Madam Pomfrey. He grunted, fidgeting, and pulled his sweating feet from under the dog, grasping around for his glasses, still trying to shield his eyes.

"You're finally awake!" Hermione gasped, sounding relieved and impatient all at once, and the newspaper rustled violently. "We've been waiting for _hours_."

"Where's Ron?"

"Playing chess with Viktor," Hermione said softly, and Harry shoved his glasses on in time to catch Hermione rolling her eyes in amusement. "Ron! _Ron_! He's awake."

"- _crush him_ , for Merlin's sake, he's only a pawn - no, I don't want your advice, you lost me two Sickles last time, just do what I tell you - what, Hermione?"

"I said, Harry's awake!" Hermione called, peering out from behind the screen shielding Harry from the rest of the Hospital Wing.

"We're mid-play, Hermione!" Ron called, sounding frustrated, and Hermione scoffed, shaking her head.

"They're playing chess? How did that happen?" Harry asked. Wasn't Ron still spitting with indignation that Krum had taken Hermione to the Yule Ball?

"Well… Last night, after Dumbledore told us what'd happened, the Durmstrang students came to sleep up in Gryffindor Tower. They're actually a very nice lot, they _love_ the twins… Beauxbatons are in Ravenclaw, for now," Hermione said. "This morning, after breakfast, one of Viktor's friends came up to help him to Professor Dumbledore's office. He wanted to talk to them all, first the Durmstrang lot, because Professor Karkaroff has run off…then the Beauxbatons students, though Fleur Delacour's too ill to be moved just yet so he'll speak to her later. Madam Pomfrey says another week, and a strict regimen of potions, and she'll feel better than she did before Crouch cursed her. Although Madam Pomfrey's rather cross that no-one mentioned Fleur's part-Veela, as that'll diminish the effectiveness of some of the Healing potions."

"Yes, but they're playing _chess_ ," Harry said. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Professor Dumbledore said it's more important than ever that we strengthen international bonds of friendship," Hermione said, turning faintly pink. "We were still here when Viktor returned from talking with Dumbledore… Viktor's invited me to stay with his family in Bulgaria for a week during the holidays."

"Are you going?"

"Well, Mrs Weasley overheard us talking, and she said she'd be more than happy to escort me to Bulgaria on her way to visiting Charlie in Romania, if I wanted to go, and if my parents agree, of course," Hermione admitted, still blushing hotly.

"Mrs Weasley's going to visit Charlie in Romania?" Harry asked curiously, frowning, and Hermione glanced at the dog at the end of the bed. Snuffles panted lightly, resting his head on his paws, watching them.

"Yes," Hermione said slowly, glancing at Sirius. "Harry, Professor Dumbledore wants to talk to you, again, at least, he came by to check on you and said if _we_ wouldn't mind, he'd like a word with us, but not until you're feeling up to it - Mrs Weasley and Madam Pomfrey have joined forces; they say you're not to leave the Hospital Wing until you've had a decent haircut and put on at least half a stone."

"I'm ready for my medicine," Harry said eagerly, sitting up straighter, glancing around for the Matron, with the usual lunch-tray; Hermione leaned over to fluff his pillows for him, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised by the gesture. He realised how bright her eyes were, her nostrils twitching delicately, and she sniffed.

Hoarsely, she whispered, "Are you alright, Harry?"

He catalogued his body; everything was healed. Madam Pomfrey hadn't let him down yet. But he knew that wasn't what she was asking. He gave a tiny jerk of his head, and sank back against the pillows, staring resolutely at the ceiling as his eyes stung. Sirius rested his head on Harry's feet again, and the warmth was as comforting as it had been last night.

"Where are Mr and Mrs Diggory?"

"They left this morning, after they sat with Dumbledore… They came to visit you, earlier, but Madam Pomfrey told them you were still under the influence of a Dreamless Sleep Potion, so…they left," Hermione said sombrely. For a little while, they sat in silence, listening to Ron deploring a particularly brilliant move of Krum's that had cost him a rook.

"Professor Dumbledore told us what you did, Harry," Hermione half-whispered, glancing at him, and Harry's nose stung, his eyes burning. Sirius stretched himself along his legs, and Harry reached out absently to scratch his ears, making his tail wag. "It was very brave."

"Dumbledore told you? Do you know about Crouch?"

"Yes," Hermione said sharply, brushing lint off her skirt. Her hands were shaking.

"What happened, after Crouch dragged me back to the castle?" Harry asked curiously.

"It was really quite horrible, actually," Hermione said lightly. "The teachers got everyone under control, and ordered the Prefects to escort us to our Common Rooms… The twins heard from the house-elves that Professor Lupin asked them to send up the hot-chocolate and toast and things…they helped settle people's nerves, we had no idea what was going on… None of us were tired, we were all waiting for news; all we saw was you, covered in blood, and Cedric…lying on the grass…then the Head Boy shows up, asking us to gather in the Great Hall… Professor McGonagall came in, leading the Durmstrang students, they looked like they were afraid to be hexed, but she just sat them down at the Gryffindor Table and told us that Professor Dumbledore would be down soon… That's when we found out Karkaroff had fled, one of Viktor's friends came and found me and told me… They'd seen a group of Aurors and Ministry officials cross the grounds, and someone in Ravenclaw told us that Hit Wizards from Magical Law Enforcement were escorting a Death Eater back to Azkaban… And Cleitus saw Cornelius Fudge throwing his weight around, having a tantrum before he left the school, Professor Snape showed him out… Then Professor Dumbledore arrived, with Mr and Mrs Diggory, and Mrs Weasley tucked herself at the end of the Gryffindor table just before Dumbledore started speaking…"

"What did he say?" Harry asked, half curious, half filled with dread. And, because this was Hermione, Harry got Dumbledore's speech verbatim. Dumbledore had apparently told them _everything_ : About Barty Crouch Jr and the impersonation of Mad-Eye Moody; the impossible plot revolving around the Triwizard Tournament; the rebirthing of Lord Voldemort; he told them about _Priori Incantatum_ , and Cedric Diggory's last request…

When Hermione finally stopped speaking, Harry lay against his pillows, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. He couldn't imagine Dumbledore telling his students all that…all that detail, all that horror - but then, he had never shied away from telling them the truth.

"It was an extraordinary thing you did, Harry, bringing Cedric back," Hermione said, her voice hoarse, and she sniffed delicately.

"He would've done it for me," Harry said, with certainty. _Decent people are so easy to manipulate, Potter…_ He shuddered, and sank lower into the pillows.

"Did you…did you see your parents, Harry? During _Priori Incantatum_?" Hermione asked on a breathless whisper, and Harry glanced at her. Dumbledore hadn't told the school about _that_? Hermione flushed. "When Professor Dumbledore told us what the spell does…well, you saw Cedric, I thought you must have - if it was the same wand…"

"Yeah…it was the same wand," Harry said gruffly, staring at the ceiling. Sirius fidgeted, and licked his palm when Harry scratched his muzzle distractedly.

"You know, I - I'm not sentimental, Harry, and I don't want you to hold it against me that I've said this, b-but I just want you to know how proud I am that you're my best-friend," Hermione said, lifting her chin, even as her eyes glittered and her voice shook. "And - I know your mum and dad would be so proud of you, too."

Harry nodded to himself, still staring at the ceiling. After a little while, he glanced at Hermione. "I wouldn't have got far without you, though."

"I wasn't in the graveyard, Harry," Hermione said sombrely.

"But you trained me," Harry told her.

"If we're going to thank someone, I think it should be Professor Lupin, for being the first competent teacher who nurtured your talent for Defensive magic," Hermione said, sitting up straighter. Harry rolled his eyes; Lupin hadn't been letting him practices hexes and jinxes on him in the run-up to the Third Task, or pored over library books to find new counter-curses for him to memorise. Not that he wouldn't, if Harry had asked him, probably.

"Can we talk about something else - you never told me about your brainwave!" Harry said, suddenly remembering.

"Oh! Well - it's funny you should bring that up," Hermione said, beaming smugly for the first time, and she dipped a hand inside her schoolbag, withdrawing a small glass jar with a few bits of twig and leaves inside, and a fat, glossy beetle. "It was you who gave me the idea, Harry."

"Did I? How?"

" _Bugging_ …"

"But you said Muggle stuff -"

"Oh, no, Muggle technology would go haywire around here," Hermione said dismissively. "No - you remember after the Second Task, well, Viktor pulled me out the water, and we were talking, you know, and he pulled a beetle out of my hair… Well, it wasn't a real beetle… Because Rita Skeeter…is an unregistered Animagus… Harry, say hello to Rita." And she brandished the jar at Harry, who took it, and peered closer. "Look at the markings on her antennae, they're exactly like those heinous glasses she wears." Sirius poked his nose closer, eyeing the contents of the jar and growling low.

"Where did you -?"

"She was buzzing about on the windowsill last night, I imagine she was frothing at the mouth to get an eye-witness account of everything that was going on," Hermione said scathingly. Contemptuously, she added, "It's a wonder she was bothering with a sleeping teenage boy in the Hospital Wing when half the Aurors and Ministry Heads of Department were up in Dumbledore's office…"

Harry was suddenly remembering something. "There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!"

"Yes, well, if I'm very much mistaken, Rita Skeeter was perched on the windowsill during the Divination class when you had that funny turn," Hermione said. "She's been buzzing around all year, thinking she was being so very _clever_."

"When we saw Malfoy under that tree…"

"He was talking to her, in his hand," Hermione said shrewdly. "He knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those delightful little interviews with the Slytherins. Whether they knew she was doing it illegally, I don't know - I doubt they cared, just as long as their name was in print. Well, Rita's finished. Not that anyone's going to bother reading her now anyway… Here, read this. It's _The Phoenix_ , Harry, don't worry, it's not _The Prophet_ , and that lady who interviewed you yesterday, she wrote a lot of the articles… Cleitus was telling me she's an investigative journalist, goes all over the world reporting on the most hideous things, centaur apartheid, goblin massacres, Veela trafficking, wizard child-soldiers, you know, to raise awareness; she even cottoned on to a serial-killer without realising it, she pieced together all the clues that a team of Aurors in Istanbul completely missed because they were so focused on another avenue of investigation."

"She seemed nice, and clever," Harry said, remembering, "She used to go out with Bill Weasley."

"Yes, the twins mentioned that. They _lust_ for her, apparently," she said drily, rolling her eyes.

"Mrs Weasley seemed pretty annoyed Bill hadn't told her Ziggy was back."

"Well, when Bill was in his final N.E.W.T. year, apparently Mrs Weasley expected him to settle down and marry Ziggy, and live here, in Britain; only Ziggy earned a job writing for a foreign press, a really brilliant opportunity - Cleitus has loaned me some of the articles he's collected from foreign papers; it would have been _appalling_ if Ziggy hadn't chased her career - but Bill wouldn't get on-board, so Ziggy dumped him, and has been travelling the world ever since," Hermione said, sounding rather impressed. "The twins say it's ironic, because her dumping him was a real kick up the behind for Bill, and he accepted the position as Trainee Curse-Breaker with Gringott's and went off to Egypt, rather than living at home and working in London, you know, where Mrs Weasley sort of expected him to work..."

"That's the second time you've mentioned Cleitus," Harry said, his mind going to the tall, handsome Slytherin boy who seemed to be the antithesis of what they assumed it meant to be a Slytherin.

"Well…" Hermione sighed, giving Harry a look. "When we found out it was Barty Crouch Jr who was impersonating Professor Moody - he was imprisoned…well, he was imprisoned with Cleitus' parents, Harry, everyone's talking about it…and he heard a rumour about Sirius Black being your godfather - also that Sirius is innocent - but he wanted to make absolutely sure there wasn't any possibility his parents could escape the same way Sirius did, because of course, Crouch had outside help." Sirius lifted his head up at that, staring at Hermione, who was so focused on Harry that she didn't notice.

"And what did you tell him?"

"Well, I said I doubted it, but if he was really worried, he should ask Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, shrugging awkwardly. "I couldn't tell him the truth about how Sirius escaped, of course, and I have no way of knowing if his parents are illegal Animagi, but they're not on the British Animagus Registry."

Sirius growled gruffly, somehow managing to frown in dog-form. Hermione frowned at him, then seemed to understand something. "Cleitus _Lestrange_. Apparently his parents were arrested for using the Cruciatus Curse on some Aurors after You-Know-Who fell last time. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. And Cleitus' uncle, Rabastan, too." Harry's stomach clenched unpleasantly, remembering his journey in the Pensieve, finding out about Neville's parents…

He realised with a sudden sickening feeling that _Crouch_ hadn't just been Harry's teacher all this year…but _Neville's_ , too - that during their lessons with him, Crouch had…had used the illegal Imperius Curse on Neville…

He wondered how Neville was handling finding out that one of the Dark wizards responsible for his parents' insanity had been roaming free all these years, had impersonated their teacher, used an Unforgiveable Curse on _him_ , even showed him kindness as part of the plot to murder one of his classmates and resurrect a Dark wizard…

Sirius fidgeted, growling low, grumbling. He rested his head on Harry's knee, and sighed, closing his eyes.

"Does anyone know who the Aurors were?" Harry asked, testing the waters.

"Not that I've heard," Hermione said grimly. "Here, here's the newspaper. Have a read. Apparently there's going to be a special evening edition. I'll go and see where they are with that chess game…honestly…" And, huffing softly, Hermione handed Harry the newspaper and disappeared beyond the screens, pulling her bushy hair into a big bun on top of her head, a sure sign she was agitated.

Harry was left with his godfather and the newspaper. Sirius sat up, and knocked Harry out of the bed in the attempt to sit next to him. The dog snorted, as Harry pulled himself off the floor, and he clambered back onto the bed, pulling a face at his godfather, before spreading the newspaper over the sheets in front of them.

Reading _The Phoenix_ was rather like being introduced to Professor McGonagall after only ever experiencing Professor Trelawney as an example of witches.

For the first time, Harry was impressed with the quality of Wizarding journalism. And heading nearly every article were the names _Elizabeth Wodehouse_ and _Shelley Franklin, Editor-in-Chief_. He couldn't imagine Ziggy Wodehouse _not_ committing her life to journalism. After reading her articles, Harry didn't think there was anyone in the world capable of conveying to the public with integrity, compassion and wisdom all the information that had to be disseminated, at once warning and reassuring the general public.

The newspaper laid everything bare. Everything, to the last detail. Crouch's testimony; Harry's experience in the graveyard; Voldemort's plans. What the Ministry had to do in order to stop him. And somehow, in the last few hours, _The Phoenix_ had managed to dredge up and explore the murky pasts of the wizards Harry had named, making links and connections, not just alluding to but backing up claims of corruption and Dark magic and Death Eater involvement. He wasn't surprised Hermione had been gushing about _The Phoenix_ : even just the profiles on the Death Eaters who evaded or slithered their way out of a binding conviction were astoundingly accurate and thought-provoking.

In nearly every article, the point was hammered home that the Minister for Magic's office had _declined to comment_.

Remembering the letter Hermione had received full of Bubotuba puss after one of Rita Skeeter's articles, Harry wondered briefly what the public reaction would be.

"Ah, you're awake, are you?!" He jumped, and Sirius jostled him again; Harry waved his arm like a windmill to keep from falling off the bed a second time, and gave Sirius a frown, gently shoving him until Sirius curled up at the foot of the bed. Madam Pomfrey had appeared with her usual stern frown. Harry submitted to her ministrations without complaint; after four long years, he knew better than to resist.

"How's Professor Moody?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Alastor Moody has been in far worse states than this," Madam Pomfrey said soothingly. "Although hypothermia and malnourishment are nothing to sniff at; he'll be in here for a week or so, at least. And, of course, that's nothing to say of the psychological damage. Mad-Eye was on the edge _before_ ; if this hasn't tipped him over, well…I'm not actually sure what _could_."

"Madam Pomfrey…when can I go back to Gryffindor Tower?"

"Not for a few days, Potter; Professor Dumbledore has asked me to keep you here, to give you room to breathe," Madam Pomfrey said kindly. "He doesn't want you bombarded with questions about - Well… When you feel up to it, you may return to your dormitory, but for now… Eat."

Harry, wondering whether he would ever feel up to facing his fellow students, turned to the lunch-tray that had appeared, laden with a mountain of food. Chicken and mushroom pie with leeks, and crumbly, buttery pastry; fresh carrots and broad-beans; minted new potatoes. And on the side, a miniature treacle tart. His _favourite_ … He caught sight of Sirius, licking his chops, pale eyes on his plate.

"Want some?" Harry asked, and Sirius the man appeared, grinning lazily. Shielded by the privacy screens, Sirius moved closer, and together they demolished the contents of the tray. Sirius didn't touch the tart, though Harry half-heartedly offered.

"Never had much of a sweet tooth," he confessed, and Harry savoured every bite, letting the treacle stick to his teeth. After draining the glass of pumpkin juice, they shared a cup of tea, quietly discussing the newspaper. Sirius went still, handed the teacup back to Harry, and turned back into a dog seconds before Hermione reappeared, Ron in tow.

"He slaughtered me," Ron told Harry miserably. "You can't be brilliant at Quidditch _and_ chess, it's just rude. How you feeling, mate?" Hermione rolled her eyes at him, sitting down in the chair by Harry's bedside.

"I'm alright. Just finished reading the paper," Harry said. "It's like comparing McGonagall to Trelawney." Hermione laughed.

"Yes, _The Phoenix_ sets quite a different tone," she said, almost haughtily.

"Hermione…what've people's reactions been like?" Harry asked quietly, glancing uncertainly at his friends.

"Well…" Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

"Most don't want to believe it," Ron said, shrugging.

"But Dumbledore's explanation - it all fits too beautifully," Hermione sighed miserably. "The devil is in the details, and, well…Dumbledore gave us undeniable detail. I was actually quite shocked he told us what he did, but then, I thought, well…we do _need_ to know, and Dumbledore has never kept things from us, especially when they affect us."

"Mum was there, when Dumbledore told us all. She saw one little kid crying and went to give them a hug, suddenly she's being swarmed by hysterical First Years," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"It's good she was there," Hermione said, frowning slightly at Ron. "When Dumbledore told us, all anyone wanted to do was be reassured their families were safe. Last night, Dumbledore said that if we wanted to stay with friends or siblings in other Houses, we could… He wanted to make sure we felt safe inside the school. And your mum was really lovely to those kids; they could see she was upset but she was braving it out. She showed them it's okay to be frightened. But we just have to get on with it."

"First time I've ever seen the twins really serious," Ron said grimly, reaching out for Harry's lunch tray; Hermione slapped his hand before he could nick the last bite of treacle tart. "What was that for?!"

"That's Harry's favourite," Hermione said, turning back to Harry. Her eyes flicked to Sirius. "Has Snuffles had any lunch? I was thinking of going down to the kitchens, you know…to visit Winky."

"Oh…yeah," Harry said, staring at his friend. He wondered what had happened to Winky once the Hit Wizards had taken Crouch away. "I'd like to visit, and see how she is… What do you think of it all, now, you know, now we know? Bloody awful Winky feels so badly about failing to help Crouch break the law…"

"And Crouch told her Bagman was bad!" Ron said, shaking his head.

"It's atrocious," Hermione said, sitting ramrod straight. "Mr Crouch knew what he was doing was illegal; he _knew_ his son was dangerous; he _knew_ he would return to You-Know-Who as soon as he got his wits back… He blamed Winky for _his_ wrongdoing. Well, Mr Crouch paid for his cruelty toward Winky in the end, didn't he?"

"I'm glad he sacked her," Harry said, glancing over at Hermione, whose face contorted with anger. "She would've been at the house when Voldemort showed up. I'll _bet_ he would've killed her, just because she was a loose end." Hermione's lips parted, and Harry sank against his pillows, fiddling with the button of his pyjama top. _Kill the spare_ …

Hermione shrieked as the glass on his tray shattered with the force of a small bomb; Harry stared at the debris, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't made anything accidentally explode in years.

Hermione pulled out her wand, muttering _Reparo_ and the glass mended itself flawlessly. Panting quietly, his blood rushing past his ears, Harry tamped down the nausea writhing in his stomach, leaning back against the pillows.

"Harry…was that you?" Hermione asked gently.

"I - I think I just - just need to sleep," Harry said, staring up at the ceiling. His head had started to hurt, and he kneaded the heel of his hand against his scar.

"Do you want Madam Pomfrey to give you another Sleeping Draught?" Hermione asked.

Harry thought about it, and remembered what Dumbledore had said last night: Postponing the inevitable would only make it hurt more when he finally confronted what had happened. "No…thanks…"

"Well…we'll take Snuffles for a run around the grounds," Ron said, and Sirius gave him a look as if to say, _Oh, you will, will you_? "Leave you in peace for a bit. I'll bet the kitchen has a load of scraps leftover from lunch." Sirius lifted his nose at that, glanced at Harry, who smiled wearily and scratched his ear; Sirius loped off the bed, yawning widely and shaking his entire huge body.

"We'll come back before dinner," Hermione said. "Madam Pomfrey might even let us stay and eat with you, she let us have breakfast with Viktor."

"Fleur awake yet?"

"No, but that's Madam Pomfrey; she needs Fleur unconscious for a lot of the potions to work properly," Ron said. "Dunno about Mad-Eye, though, he's still got screens up."

When they had left, Harry folded his glasses on his nightstand, tucked himself under the sheets, and drifted into an uneasy sleep, his head throbbing.

* * *

 **A.N.** : So, there will be no Romione in this story, fair warning now. No what the youths today are calling 'WolfStar', though if I didn't love Remus and Tonks so much, there might've been. No Bleur, because I could get into an argument with Fleur-lovers about how ridiculous it is that people think she's a badass, when she literally only took a part-time job to polish up her accent and then became a housewife after looking down her nose at Mrs Weasley and the Burrow and there being nothing to do if you don't like chickens! Pardon me, but WTF did Fleur get to survive and Tonks didn't?

BTW, if anyone wants to bribe me to speed up updates, _Aquaman_ would be much appreciated. The actual man. I went to see it at the cinema on Saturday. _Phwoar_! I'm a _Marvel_ girl but even I can appreciate the - uh - the _cinematography_ and CGI world-building and, er, fighting-choreography of _Aquaman_ … It had _nothing_ to do with Jason Momoa's muscle-tone…nothing at all… Not the way he flipped his hair over his shoulder, smirked and broke swords in half, or has a little tantrum in the middle of the Sahara and knocks the GPS out of Mera's hands like an irrational teenager, or because he's a gorgeous self-deprecating real _person_ , not just a hero.

To quote Drax the Destroyer, " _He is a_ _MAN_."


	8. A Parting of the Ways

**A.N.** : So, I've just submitted my application to teacher training! Feeling slightly nauseous. But I thought I'd give you an update to celebrate!

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _A Parting of the Ways_

* * *

Thrashing around in his bed, tangled in the sheets, sweating and shuddering, Harry became aware that he was yelling in his sleep, as someone tried to shake him awake. The Hospital Wing was dark, now, specks of amber light coming from a couple of lamps, and Harry, shivering and choking on terror, heard a soft, accented voice saying, "Vake up. Potter, vake up - you are having a nightmare."

" _Krum_?"

"Yes. I thought you vould vake ven you started screaming, but your dream must have had a hold on you," Krum said, and with surprising care he untwisted the sheets around Harry. Panting, Harry lay shivering as sweat cooled all over his body. Krum poured a glass of water from the nightstand and handed it to Harry, taking Hermione's usual seat beside him. Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

"S-sorry," Harry apologised, staring blearily up at the ceiling. His head throbbed. He thought he could remember his nightmare - only, it wasn't a dream; it was a memory. "I d-didn't mean to wake you."

"You did not," Krum told him quietly. "I vos writing to my cousins in Bulgaria."

Harry pulled himself upright against the pillows, nursing the glass of water. It slipped down his throat, cold and bracing. He shoved his glasses on, and Krum's large beaked nose and bushy eyebrows came into focus. "Are your parents still here?"

"They left yesterday afternoon," Krum told him. "After speaking vith Dumbledore."

"Hermione said he spoke to all the Durmstrang students," Harry remembered.

"It vas good of him to do so; others vould not have," Krum said. "Our headmaster is in disgrace… I have very much respect for your Dumbledore, and for telling us all that has happened…but it should not be so surprising; Dumbledore is a great vizard. He stopped Grindelvald, ven none others dared…and he is the only von Lord Voldemort fears."

Harry was too stunned to keep shivering. " _You_ said his name."

"Grindelvald murdered by grandfather, I valked past his symbol at Durmstrang every day and refused to look away, or forget," Krum said stubbornly. "I vill not cower at the sound of a name made up by a vizard who vishes nothing but evil for the vorld." They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry slowly sipping his water, his body calming down. Then, Krum said sadly, "I liked Diggory. He vas always polite to me, even though I vas from Durmstrang - vith Karkaroff."

"He was decent," Harry said quietly, and Krum nodded, gazing unseeingly at Harry's sheets. Curiously, and to take his mind off other things because his eyes had started burning, Harry asked, "What's Durmstrang like?"

"Vell, it is much like Hogvarts, it is hidden in mountains with a great lake… There are vonderful views all around, and flying…you can fly for miles vithout ever vorrying about Muggles seeing you," Krum said. "In the summertime, ve dive from the ship into the great lake… Ve learn duelling and martial magic, though this has given Durmstrang its dark reputation… It is cold, alvays, this is thought to sharpen our minds and make our bodies strong; ve must vear furs most days, especially in vinter, ven the fires are still not lit… Professor Dumbledore has invited us to sit in lessons until the end of your term, I shall be very interested to see the difference in teaching. Your Professor McGonagall…she is a strict teacher, yes?"

"Very," Harry nodded.

"But you respect her," Krum said, frowning at him, and Harry nodded vigorously, then winced, his head pounding. Krum watched him carefully, then said softly, "Yes, I vas impressed by her. You know vere you stand vith her. And she is not unkind."

"She's tough but fair," Harry said. "And she _loves_ Quidditch."

"Does she?" Harry sat up a little straighter, and told Krum - the famous international Quidditch player - about his first time on a broom, and how Professor McGonagall, rather than inflicting corporal punishment for breaking the rules, had put him on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Curious, Harry asked how Krum had managed to join the Bulgarian International Team while still a student at Durmstrang, and they talked for a little while about Krum's gruelling training, comparing Quidditch injuries and discussing favourite techniques. It did occur to Harry that this was the most he had ever heard Krum speak, ever.

"The Weasley twins are our Beaters - they're practically bludgers themselves," Harry said, grinning, even as his head ached.

"The red-haired tvins in your Gryffindor, vith the clever jokes?" Krum asked, and Harry nodded. "They turned von of my friends into a canary vith a biscuit they hexed."

"Yeah…Canary Creams. They want to start a joke-shop, see," he told Krum. "Actually, you know, they bet on you, at the Quidditch World Cup, so they could gain more capital to get inventing…" He told them about the twins' bet - that Ireland would win, but Krum would catch the Snitch. Talking about the World Cup, they somehow got onto the subject of the Dark Mark, and the terror it had inspired that night; Krum told him about the sign of Grindelwald, carved into a wall at Durmstrang. Krum said both symbols inspired the same reaction; the common theme, Krum thought, was that both wizards - Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort - feared Dumbledore above all others.

"Lord Voldemort did not have the same hold over Europe as did Grindelvald ven he vos at the height of his power, but then Grindelvald never dared invade Britain, and the only safe place in Britain during Lord Voldemort's reign vos here at Hogvarts," Krum sighed. "The vorld turned upside-down in terror - because of two men. And ve are the ones left to fight."

"Are you - going to fight?"

"I vill do vot I can," Krum said quietly. "Dumbledore avenged my grandfather ven he defeated Grindelvald. The last few days have shown his true character, and ven he says Lord Voldemort has risen, I believe him, and I vill do all I can to help a man I deeply respect….It vos very brave, Potter, vot you did."

"I survived," Harry said heavily, his throat burning. He stared up at the ceiling. "I am the Boy Who Lived… I survive when other people don't. I don't know why."

After a silence that seemed to stretch, Krum said, "Herm… _Hermione_ …says your scar comes from the Killing Curse that rebounded."

"Yeah."

"It pains you. Ven you vere thrashing around through your nightmare, you vere clutching your head," Krum noted.

"Yeah, it…it hurts, sometimes…when Voldemort's close, or I think, when he's angry," Harry said.

"Von of our professors at Durmstrang vos an Auror - he did not get on vith Karkaroff… He told us curse-scars are old magic," Krum said, and then, plainly, "At least yours is useful."

"I'm like a walking Sneakoscope," Harry said thoughtfully, and Krum laughed softly.

"It is no vonder Dumbledore is protective over you," he said. "I noticed, ven your name vas pulled out of the Goblet. He took you at your vord; he trusted you."

"Dumbledore's good like that," Harry said, sighing, suddenly very tired.

"This castle is very comfortable," Krum said, a little while later, gazing around the Hospital Wing. "And your Healer reminds me of my grandmother. She is strict but caring."

"Did you like sitting at the Slytherin table?" Harry asked curiously.

"I know that Slytherin House has the same reputation as Durmstrang," Krum said, carefully. "But ve are not all Grindelvald, just as all Slytherins are not Lord Voldemort… Some of your classmates are decent like Diggory, I am glad to meet them." Harry raised his eyebrows, thinking, _Decent, in Slytherin_? But he supposed, no, Krum wasn't like Karkaroff, who lived up to his foul reputation.

"So…you invited Hermione to visit you in Bulgaria," Harry said casually.

"I vould very much like for my family to meet her," Krum nodded. "Ven ve arrived at Hogwarts I vos struck by the school; I think my cousins vould do better here than at Durmstrang - even vithout Karkaroff there… I vos hoping my aunts and uncles could speak to Hermione about the school…"

"Hermione's the cleverest witch in the school," Harry said loyally, and truthfully. "If you let her, she won't _ever_ stop talking about what she's been learning!"

"It is vy I like her," Krum said. "She is comfortable in herself… She vos annoyed ven the other girls kept following me into the library, distracting her, she did not care that I am a famous Quidditch player." Harry grinned.

"Yeah, well, she has to put up with a lot with me," he said fairly. "And she doesn't really _get_ Quidditch. But she's brilliant."

"Your friend vill do great things, I think," Krum mused. "I very much vish to be there to see it, even if ve are only friends. She has several years before she can leave school."

"Hermione's an incredible friend to have," Harry said loyally.

"That is vot I vas thinking," Krum nodded. He sighed heavily, glancing around the Hospital Wing. "I vill let you sleep, Potter; I must finish my letter." Harry nodded, and Krum disappeared beyond the screens. Harry tucked himself into the mattress, and somehow, he drifted off to sleep, this time too exhausted for nightmares.

* * *

On Monday morning, Harry's scar started burning as it hadn't since the night Lord Voldemort rose again. He was working his way through his second plateful of breakfast - sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes and mushrooms, fried bread, baked beans and black pudding, which Sirius kept stealing from the plate - when his head started throbbing, and searing pain hit him like an anvil, coupled with a vicious kind of cold anger that made his hands shake. He kneaded his forehead, avoiding the searching look Sirius gave him, and tucked into his fried tomatoes.

Harry found out why Voldemort was so angry a few moments later, when Hermione burst into the Hospital Wing, her hair flying, eyes bright, startling Harry, and holding a newspaper in her hand.

She thrust the paper at Harry, breathlessly ordering him, " _Read it_! I can't _believe it_!" She was practically dancing, she was so giddy. Ron had just caught up, panting, as he sank into a chair.

"Let the man finish his breakfast!" Ron said indignantly, as Hermione brandished the newspaper again, actually taking the cutlery out of Harry's hands to ensure his focus was diverted.

"What's happened?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement - they've _walked out of the Ministry_."

" _What_?" They all jumped, even Sirius, and glanced around. Harry's screens had been removed, and now they had an unimpeded view of the ward. Professor Moody was propped against a mound of pillows, eyeing his own breakfast tray suspiciously. He had woken last night, and Harry had been jolted from sleep by the paranoid Auror trying to hex everything in sight using his wooden leg. Madam Pomfrey had felt it prudent to keep Mad-Eye's wand out of reach until he left the Hospital Wing, though Mad-Eye had calmed considerably after Dumbledore paid him a visit. They had sat behind screens for a good couple of hours; Harry couldn't hear a word.

"Er - good morning, Professor," Hermione said uncertainly.

"Never got round to much teaching, did I?" Moody grumbled. He had yet to put his magical eye back in, but the scarred old Auror was still an intimidating sight to behold.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked kindly.

"Irritable. That newspaper, girl, is that _The Prophet_?"

" _The Phoenix_ , sir," Hermione said, lifting her chin slightly.

"Get over here and read it aloud," Moody said, beckoning her over to the chair beside his bed. Harry and Ron exchanged a look, and clambered across the wing to settle in chairs around the Auror's bed. His breakfast was untouched.

"Not hungry, Professor?" Ron said hopefully, eyeing the sausages.

"Here," Harry said, understanding, and reaching out, he cut up some bacon and eggs and ate them, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. He set the cutlery down, handles toward Moody, and lifted his gaze to Moody's. His one natural eye was focused on Harry, and he scowled dangerously.

"You're just like James," he said finally, gruffly, and turned to his breakfast with an enthusiasm that rivalled Ron's. "The paper - read it aloud, girl. What's happened?"

Breathless, excitable, Hermione calmed down only long enough to read through the eleven pages' worth of articles on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement breaking with the Ministry.

It was a coup. Led by Amelia Bones, the Head of Department, now restyled the Chief of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department had severed ties with the Ministry, to operate as a bureau of criminal investigation and defence of the nation's wizarding community, independent of the other Departments, and no longer beholden to the Minister for Magic. Checks were already being put into place to ensure that neither the Minister, nor the elected Chief of Magical Law Enforcement, could ever abuse their authority over Magical Law Enforcement.

The Auror Office, headed by Rufus Scrimgeour, had led the walkout of the Aurors to their new premises, a new headquarters with a separate training Academy and barracks, and Madam Bones and Scrimgeour were quoted as already being in consultation with foreign wizards who specialised in reinforcing magical prisons that were both secure and maintained a high standard of living. There would also be a new, specialised unit within the Auror Office, the Behavioural Analysis Unit, the brightest minds and most able Aurors devoted to tracking down the worst of the worst, using _psychological profiling_ \- a Muggle investigative technique, Hermione told them smugly, one adapted and introduced by Ellaria Scamander, a worldwide authority on the subject and much sought after for her expertise and intervention, lecturing at schools and Auror training academies and governing bodies all over the world.

The prison system was going to undergo drastic changes, Madam Bones declared, with the support and ingenuity of the members of the Wizengamot and Magical Law Enforcement. The punishment would now, Madam Bones was quoted as saying, fit the crime.

The Wizengamot had already voted on the legality of the use of Veritaserum on witches and wizards held in custody when national security was compromised. The new law had been passed only yesterday in an astonishing vote, in response to Barty Crouch Jr's testimony, which had been recounted to the Wizengamot; the transcript had been printed in _The Phoenix_ , in full, in the evening edition, complete with photographs, professional analysis, and a piece on Crouch's original trial.

Harry hadn't yet seen Neville; his parents' fates had been discussed in detail in the article about Crouch's original arrest.

Apparently a group of seventh-year Gryffindors had tried to hex Cleitus Lestrange, for his parents' part in torturing Neville's parents to insanity.

"Emphasis on _tried_ ," Ron said, and Hermione nodded, her eyes wide.

"He's always so polite and laidback, I was actually quite shocked - he can _duel_. Properly," Hermione said, looking impressed. The look faded from her face, replaced by something very sad, and almost ashamed. "He asked us about Neville…you know…how he's doing… None of us had any idea."

Hermione had told Harry that last night, she and Ron had gone to find Neville, who hadn't wanted to talk about his parents, or the newspaper articles, or Crouch having been masquerading as their teacher, but had listened solemnly when Ron told him about his uncles, who had both been murdered during the War.

Harry sighed, thinking of Neville, and of the Lestranges. They had been listed by the Ministry as some of the few highest-security prisoners in Azkaban who were _not_ to be relocated to a new prison, built on the Island of Drear, which was Unplottable, safe from Muggles, and home to the dangerous carnivorous magical creatures, Quintapeds, to deter escapees. Magic would protect the island, only, unlike Hogwarts, it would prevent inmates from getting _out_ , rather than other people getting _in_.

It was Madam Bones' hope that in the very near future, Azkaban would be needed only for top-security prisoners, the very _worst_ \- Hermione likened it to Nurmengard Castle, the former stronghold and now prison of the Dark wizard Grindewald.

Dementors were being phased out of Azkaban: Quite a large article was devoted to analysing the devastating consequences of Dementor attacks during Lord Voldemort's reign of terror, and the wisdom of removing Dementors from positions of power over Lord Voldemort's most dangerous followers.

And, perhaps most importantly of all, a constitutional Conclave had been created: It invited representatives of wizards, goblins, centaurs, and other magical part-humans and magical races, to gather together and create a governing body.

"It sounds very like the Houses of Parliament," Hermione said thoughtfully, reading aloud. "'Established political parties voted in by the public, acting on the needs and desires of the collective Wizarding community, and a chosen leader within the elected party to act as Minister for Magic'. That's interesting. 'Should the Minister for Magic prove unequal to their great burden, be it through age, illness or ineptitude' - well, Fudge wouldn't last long, would he? - 'the Party remains, and may nominate another member to lead the Nation until the next election'. It says here that voting age will be set at seventeen, for wizards at least…they're in direct liaison with several part-human and other magical races about getting representation within the Conclave!"

"Amelia finally did it," Moody rumbled, and they glanced at the scarred Auror. He was staring inscrutably at the newspaper, which showed Madam Bones' stern face gazing back at them. "Good for her… Good for us."

"She does sound like she knows what she's doing," Hermione said, almost fondly, closing the newspaper finally, to gaze at the photograph.

"I met her, the other night," Harry said. "She's - well, she's a bit like McGonagall. You know, she's Susan's aunt. In Hufflepuff."

"Susan _Bones_ \- of course! I wonder if she had any clue… I doubt it, this has come as a shock to everyone, Madam Bones doesn't seem the type to gossip over brandy after a family dinner - Ron, your father's Office is in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, isn't it?"

"Uh - yeah. But it's not very big, it's only Dad and old Perkins," Ron said, shrugging. "They won't've interviewed _Dad_ about anything important -"

"They did," Harry said quietly, examining one of the back pages of the newspaper.

" _What_?! Hermione, you didn't say -"

"Where, Harry?"

"Right here, see - it's about the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, your dad's talking about retaining strong ties with the Muggle Liaison Office, and he's asked for funding for a bigger team - it's a job spec," Harry said, passing the newspaper to Hermione so Ron could look over her shoulder.

"He's asking for young witches and wizards fresh from Hogwarts, preferably half-bloods or Muggle-borns who know modern Muggle technology - well, at least they got the term correct," Hermione said, sighing softly. "Your dad is quoted as saying, 'Muggle technology is advancing with leaps and bounds, to the point where a good deal of their day-to-day tasks are carried out by artefacts which, to Wizard kind, are unrecognisable and even absurd. To prevent malicious intent or accidental harm toward Muggles with these artefacts, we must learn all we can to remain one step ahead and prevent any breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, increasingly more difficult in this new modern age. I have asked our new Chief of Magical Law Enforcement for consideration of the expansion of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and am delighted that Madam Bones has agreed. Anyone interested in lending their knowledge of Muggle artefacts should send their _curriculum vitae_ via owl…'"

"It's only ever been Dad and Perkins - and their office is the size of a broom-cupboard…actually, I think it _is_ a broom-cupboard," Ron said, narrowing his eyes. "Madam Bones actually gave him funding to expand the Office?"

"I should think so, too; and your dad's quite right, Muggle technology _is_ advancing at an alarming rate, you wouldn't believe it," Hermione said. "The world is becoming _so_ much smaller because of it, it'll make it easier to uphold the Statute of Secrecy if wizards can recognise the danger of an _iPhone_ when they're trying to Apparate. You can Obliviate someone but their phone automatically uploads photographs and videos to a Cloud to back them up, so you've always got them saved and backed up. And that's nothing to say of government surveillance in cities like London. Wizards have a lot of catching up to do if they want to get ahead of Muggle technology. I wonder how much interest Mr Weasley will get. They might even have to liaise with the Magical Catastrophes office, you know, for the big stuff."

"Mum's gonna explode; I don't think Dad's ever even had a pay-rise," Ron said, flushing as Professor Moody scowled at him.

"Your father's Arthur Weasley, is he?"

"Er…yeah."

"Good man, Arthur," Moody nodded. "You, girl, read that bit about the Auror Office again, the new premises."

"Well, it doesn't say much, only that it's located somewhere just beyond St Michael's Mount in Cornwall, on a tiny Unplottable tidal island," Hermione said, turning back to one of the larger articles. "A castle was built there in the Middle Ages; the Department got hold of the premises twenty years ago when the family that owned it died out - thanks to You-Know-Who - there's a small article on the family, and their murders during the War, god they're gruesome… A special team has been working on making the premises ready for habitation for the last three years, in total secrecy, because of the magical fail-safes and counter-curses and protections put in place. They haven't disclosed the location of the Auror Academy -"

"With good reason," Moody grunted.

"-but the rest of Magical Law Enforcement offices will find their homes in a Jacobean manor-house in Yorkshire," Hermione continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "There's a photograph - it's very beautiful, I must say. The Wizengamot will return to its former home, when it was still the Wizards' Council - that'll be in Edinburgh, of course; and the Conclave will have its House in Windsor. Also, there will be the equivalent of 10 Downing Street for the Minister for Magic, which will serve as both their home and the base of operations for their Party. Lovely. I hope they curate a halfway decent library."

Madam Pomfrey bustled over, telling them it was time for Professor Moody to take more of his potions, so they retreated to Harry's bed to continue their chat.

"Read what Madam Bones said about Fudge again," he said, as Hermione settled in her customary chair with the newspaper.

Hermione cleared her throat, seeking the article, and Harry listened carefully as Hermione read out, "'The incompetency, and bullish refusal to act on a very dire warning, ignoring a rare and unprecedented opportunity to the public and to the governing bodies of Great Britain to prevent catastrophe before it can strike, was the deciding factor in Magical Law Enforcement's decision to renounce all loyalty to Cornelius Fudge, and to remove the Department from the London-based Ministry of Magic. Law Enforcement should hold everyone, especially its elected officials, to account for decisions made which affect the nation. For the first time in nearly fourteen years, the British wizarding public are confronted with the reality that Lord Voldemort has returned to a corporeal body, and returned to Great Britain… Whether he returns to _power_ is up to us. I ask the British public to stand by Magical Law Enforcement, and by each other, to prevent that ever happening again'."

"She certainly makes an impact," Harry said.

"But she's not Minister for Magic, is she?" Ron frowned.

"No, Fudge still has the job - though without the might of Magical Law Enforcement behind him, it'll be interesting to see how long he lasts," Hermione said, sniffing lightly. Harry had managed to get a moment with Ron and Hermione without anyone around, and told them about Fudge's tantrum in Dumbledore's office. "Every Department in the Ministry was answerable to Magical Law Enforcement; if they're a separate body, Fudge won't be able to lean on them. And especially as the Wizengamot has separated from the Ministry. And the establishment of this Conclave should do an extraordinary amount of good, you know. It'll represent what the people want, and be much more egalitarian. More people have the opportunity to affect change in government. Fudge won't last long, not when people have the opportunity to vote for who they want representing them. After this, no-one will have any respect for Fudge, if they did to begin with. Perhaps the Wizengamot will rescind the Order of Merlin, First Class that he lavished upon himself… Do you remember how he was toward the Bulgarian Minister at the Quidditch World Cup? He should've had a translator, or made the _effort_ to learn some of the language - or even performed a charm to translate for him as he spoke…"

"You can do that?" Harry asked, blinking. It had never occurred to him. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"Of course! Viktor was wonderful, allowing me to test out the charms. Some of his friends at Durmstrang are Russian and Polish and Austrian, and the spell worked beautifully with all of them," Hermione said. "Of course, that particular charm only works on verbal communication, not written; I'm still looking for one that'll translate my letters, but until then it's been very interesting, learning Bulgarian."

"Have time to chat, do you?" Ron asked, giving Hermione a deceptively benign smile. His eyes glittered as he caught Harry's eye, smirking.

"Yes, Ron, we do. You don't become an International Quidditch Player by wasting time, do you? No, you manage your time effectively," Hermione said lightly, but her cheeks flushed pink as Ron sniggered; he could find an innuendo in a nunnery. Hermione caught Harry's eye, blushing and embarrassed, but he just shrugged.

"Have you decided yet, whether you're going to visit him?"

"Well…I've just had a letter back from Mum and Dad…they're not especially keen on me going to stay with an older boy they've not even met, obviously," Hermione said. "And they've booked holiday in France, my sister's really looking forward to it."

"Oh, Ursula?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded. "How is she?"

"She's been practicing her French, apparently," Hermione said. "So she can ask for what she'd like at the _p_ _â_ _tisserie_ by herself - she's been saving her pocket-money, or you know Mum and Dad wouldn't want her eating all those sweets. But Mrs Weasley says if I'd really like to go, she'll be my chaperone, she's already written to my parents. Mum and Dad would feel much more comfortable with that arrangement."

"My mum - "

"Yes, she's offered to travel with me to Bulgaria, sort of get the lay of the land with Viktor's family so my parents won't worry, and leave me there for a few days while she visits Charlie in Romania," Hermione said, glancing at Ron, rolling her eyes as if this was the _third_ time she had told Ron all this, which it probably was.

"Why's Mum going to Romania?"

"Well…" Here, Hermione glanced around the Hospital Wing. She dropped her voice when she murmured, "I think it's for Dumbledore, you know…on business for the Order of the Phoenix."

"That makes sense," Harry nodded. "Dumbledore mentioned we'll need as many foreign wizards on our side as we can get."

"And it's perfect, really, Mrs Weasley will be visiting Viktor's family, I think from what Viktor's mentioned, Dumbledore's asked them to join, too," Hermione said in an undertone. "So Mrs Weasley will be able to pass on information to Viktor's family, and their contacts, and she can let Charlie know what's going on, so he can start making contacts too."

"Explains why Bill's gone straight back to Egypt," Ron said gloomily; Bill was the favourite eldest brother, of course. Ginny had been deeply upset that she hadn't gotten to spend more time with him before he had disappeared after the Third Task.

"Yes - and Bill's perfectly situated to bring in all sorts of really powerful, highly-trained witches and wizards," Hermione said. "Curse-breakers are nothing to sniff at."

"Dumbledore won't let us join the Order," Ron said. "The twins were gung-ho, but he's told them that only adult wizards who have left Hogwarts will be permitted to join."

"Yeah, well, even Dumbledore wouldn't dare cross your mum," Harry said, and Ron grinned. "When did the twins tell you that?"

"Fred told us, when we went down to the kitchens with them the other night, to visit Winky," Hermione said, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"How is she?"

"Oh…well…it's hit her very hard, you know…it's one thing to hear someone so close to you has died, but to learn it was Mr Crouch's son who murdered him in cold blood…she looked after them all those years…" Hermione sighed, and they all exchanged subdued looks. Harry sighed, remembering Winky in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, sobbing that she " _is loving them all of my life_ ", holding onto the chocolate Ellaria had given her, the silver chain Ellaria had conjured, glaring down anyone who approached…he remembered Mrs Weasley trying to console her. He remembered Dumbledore's courtesy to her, and his admiration for her loyalty.

He made sure to tell Hermione it all again, just in case he hadn't before.

"Well…I suppose not all wizards who have house-elves are Lucius Malfoy," she admitted grudgingly. "I still think it is morally reprehensible - but at least Dumbledore treats the Hogwarts elves with compassion - and dignity."

"And remember, Dobby beat him down when Dumbledore wanted to pay him ten Galleons a week," Harry said fairly.

"Maybe I should get a job in the Hogwarts kitchens," Ron said offhandedly, and Hermione glared at him.

* * *

 **A.N.** : Ta-da… I was always impressed with Madam Bones, even though we saw so little of her. She's one of those background characters that I would've loved to see more; like Florean Fortescue, and Tonks, and Charlie Weasley, and Remus, and Neville and his gran, and Madam Rosmerta…the list goes on… So Madam Bones is the BAMF who takes control of Magical Law Enforcement and catastrophically derails Voldemort's plans.


	9. Magical Cooperation

**A.N.** : I should probably mention, in this universe, Theseus and Leta had a son, Hector, who had eight children, one of whom is Ellaria.

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Magical Cooperation_

* * *

"Are you sure, Harry? You don't have to - "

"No, I want to come," Harry said adamantly, and Hermione hid her triumphant smirk as they strode determinedly to the first-floor corridor where Hufflepuff students usually disappeared after dinner. "But won't they all be working? I mean - won't they be doing dinner - and don't they clean the rest of the castle in the evenings?"

"Yes, but not until the students are all asleep," Hermione said.

"You mean they have to wait around until you've stopped revising for the night before they're _allowed_ to come up and clean the Gryffindor Common Room, before they can go to bed?" Fred asked innocently, giving Hermione a wide-eyed look. She blinked, as if she hadn't thought of that, then looked very annoyed as she reached out and tickled the pear on the large still-life painting of the fruit bowl.

" _Harry Potter_!" The squeak echoed across the cavernous hall, and Dobby the house-elf came rushing forward, thoroughly winding Harry, who had braced for the impact.

"Hi, Dobby. Thanks for the flowers," Harry said, remembering the _Torero_ marigolds that had appeared on his nightstand in the dormitory his first night out of the Hospital Wing, twirling and flourishing in an elegantly aggressive way, the vivid scarlet petals edged in gold. A handmade and hideous card had read, ' _To cheer Harry Potter up after his courageous duel against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, Dobby is proud to call himself Harry Potter's friend. P.S. Please could Harry Potter visit Winky before he leaves for the summer holidays, Sir? She is most distressed still._ '

"Harry Potter! You is come to visit again!" the elf said breathlessly.

"I would've come sooner, but we're back in lessons, and I don't know when your day off is," Harry said honestly. He might have thought about putting the Invisibility Cloak on to sneak down the last couple of nights, for a cup of tea and a snack, just to put off having to try falling back to sleep after nightmares had woken him - the idea of a seven-floor trek put him off.

"And you is bringing Miss Granger and the Messrs Wheezy," Dobby said, beaming up at Hermione, Ron and the twins, who swept the elf an identical formal bow that made Dobby's enormous tennis-ball eyes bug out of his head, giving Harry a shy grin.

"Like the outfit, Dobby," Fred said, eyeing the maroon Weasley jumper that had been shrunk to fit Dobby's tiny frame.

"The jumper goes well with your tea-cosy," George added thoughtfully, as Dobby beamed. "Getting ready for the Leaving Feast?"

"Dobby has never seen such preparations, Master Wheezy," Dobby said seriously, his eyes glowing. "We is cooking from dusk until dawn - but you shall enjoy it all, Dobby is sure, Dobby _knows_ the Messrs Wheezy are partial to the Hogwarts kitchens."

"Six years and we've never been disappointed yet," said George staunchly, as Fred nodded. Beaming elves bowed and curtsied to them.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Dobby offered, and no fewer than eight elves appeared, bearing a silver tea-service and trays laden with toasted teacakes drenched in melted butter, shortbread, tiny little bite-sized cakes and iced biscuits shaped like Snitches.

"Always appreciated, thanks," George grinned at the elf who offered him a plate of fresh scones generously topped with clotted cream and strawberry jam.

"Dobby, where's Winky?" Hermione asked softly. After being bodily shunted out of the kitchens during their last visit, Harry thought perhaps it was her having arrived with the twins that had prevented the elves from bundling Hermione out of the hall a second time. They clearly liked the twins. The silver tea-service floated after them as Dobby led the way to the brick fireplace, where it seemed like hundreds of polished copper pots and pans were bubbling, simmering, hissing and glugging, too many scents to count bombarding their noses. In a tidy little corner on a tiny stool sat Winky, bleary-eyed, gazing into the distance, and loosely holding a bottle of Butterbeer.

"On the hard stuff, Winky?" Fred asked, frowning at the tiny elf, who didn't jump so much as list to the side and almost fall off the stool, turning bleary eyes on the twins, going slightly cross-eyed before she blinked slowly and tried to focus.

"It can't be as bad as all that," George said. Hermione gave them a questioning look. George murmured, "It's not strong stuff for us, but to house-elves it's like firewhiskey."

"Harry Potter has come to visit, Winky," Dobby declared happily, snapping his fingers so several more stools appeared, and they all sat down. The silver tea-service hovered, and the little plates offered treats around. Harry chose a stool near Winky, concerned by her glazed eyes.

"Winky," he said quietly, and the tiny elf focused glazed brown eyes on his face. "I'm…very sorry you lost your family, Winky." Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn't fall - rare; Harry remembered their previous visits, when she had descended into screaming tantrums of grief and self-loathing.

"Mum told us everything," Fred said grimly, frowning inscrutably at the elf. "Course, we read it in the papers, too. Barty Crouch Jr's testimony…"

"They didn't appreciate you in the slightest, Winky," George said sadly, as he reached out and gently prised the bottle of Butterbeer from her hands. Crouch's testimony had of course included how Winky had cared for him while he was under the Imperius Curse; he had claimed Winky had looked after him all those years out of nothing more than pity, out of duty. Harry wondered if either of the Crouches could see Winky now, whether they would even have cared to see her so devastated; to Winky, she had lost her _family_ , two people she loved more than anyone else in the world. To the Crouches, she had been a servant. "Here, have a cake, soak up some of that Butterbeer."

Winky's enormous brown eyes grew to the size of saucers as George offered her the little plate of delicate bite-sized cakes, which were beautifully iced a pale lilac and decorated with tiny opalescent lavender-blue pearls. Hand trembling, Winky reached for a tiny cake, gazing at George in a kind of trancelike wonder.

She sat up a little straighter on her stool, and Harry saw her neatening up her tiny child's blouse, as Dobby told Hermione some of the history of the Hogwarts house-elves, as he had learned it from his colleagues: Helga Hufflepuff had offered the first Hogwarts elves sanctuary within the castle and its vast kitchens, to escape the brutality of lesser wizards, and traditionally, Hufflepuff students learned of the kitchen's secret entrance first, served detentions under the elves, and sometimes even made gifts to their especial friends. Rarely, some offspring of the Hogwarts elves even bound themselves to their favourites, though the house-elves' first loyalty was to the school.

Hermione was fascinated; even Ron seemed interested. As the afternoon wore on, the house-elves who were toiling away started offering them samples of the dishes being prepared for the Leaving Feast, asking their opinions on this tart, that stew, that cake and, after some rather less-than-covert whispering and nudging from the elves Harry thought were in charge of all the others, Dobby asked Harry, "Please, sir, if you could tell us about the Three Tasks. Professor Dumbledore is wanting some especially wonderful commemorations for the Triwizard Tournament, you see, sir, and we is needing ideas."

"Er…" Hundreds of pairs of eyes swivelled to land on Harry, and the noise and bustle of the kitchen, which none of them had noticed up until that point, suddenly went silent.

"Gather 'round!" Fred grinned, jumping up from his stool.

"Yeah, we'll tell you _all_ about it…" George said, winking at Harry, who relaxed with a great sigh of relief, and contented himself to sit and drink tea and enjoy his fourth Devonshire split and no fewer than six mini treacle tartlets as the twins took it upon themselves to regale the Hogwarts house-elves with breath-taking tales of great daring and courage. Somehow, with the twins telling the story, it almost sounded thrilling, a true adventure… _fun_ … He rolled his eyes a lot, because it certainly wasn't how _he_ remembered the Tasks, but the twins were hilarious storytellers, and while they continued their tasks, the house-elves worked so quietly that everyone could hear.

Somehow they missed dinner in the Great Hall that day; they remained in the kitchens, watching the house-elves work as the twins had the closest house-elves rocking and clutching their stomachs with the force of their laughter, tears rolling down their faces; they gasped at all the right moments; squeaked with fright and hid behind their hands when the situation seemed fraught. They were the perfect audience, and those nearest them kept Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins well-fed, sampling crème brûlée and dainty lemon _macarons_ and Bulgarian _musaka_ and stuffed pierogi and Russian honey-cake and even Ron groaned at the overindulgence as another house-elf produced a cast-iron skillet filled with what Hermione called _tartiflette_ , setting the whole thing on a little table between them.

The twins finished their story to tumultuous applause, and they were provided with Butterbeers, orange juice and a fork apiece to attack the hissing skillet full of boiled potatoes, salty bacon and melted cheese. Winky, Harry noticed, drank only pumpkin juice, and gave the twins a thoughtful look before getting up, straightening up her clothes, and joining a line of other elves who were hard at work.

Harry might have thought that, when pressed, after steadily eating through the last three hours, he wouldn't accept the handfuls of biscuits and pastries and buttery mini pies filled with chicken and ham-hock - but he did.

"Are you going to tell us, then?" Harry said finally, as they staggered back up to Gryffindor Tower in considerable agony. "Who you were blackmailing?"

"Oh," George said darkly, " _That_."

"It doesn't matter," Fred said, shaking his head impatiently, biting off the end of a cream horn rather aggressively. "It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway."

"We've given up," George said, shrugging.

Finally, after much pestering, they reached the Gryffindor Common Room. Sitting down to enjoy sampling their way through the kitchen's best offerings in their favourite armchairs, the twins finally relented.

"Alright, alright," Fred said, "if you really want to know…it was Ludo Bagman."

"Bagman?" Harry said sharply. "Are you saying he was involved in -"

"Nah," George sighed heavily, looking uncharacteristically gloomy. "Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn't have the brains."

"Well, then, what?" asked Ron.

Fred hesitated, then said, "You remember that bet we had with him, at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the git paid us in leprechaun gold he'd caught from the Irish mascots."

"So?" Ron prompted.

" _So_ ," Fred said impatiently, "it vanished, didn't it? By next morning, it had gone."

"But - it must've been an accident, mustn't it?" Hermione asked, looking scandalised.

George laughed very bitterly. "Yeah, that's what we thought, at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, and told him he'd made a mistake, he'd cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us."

"In the end, he turned pretty nasty," Fred said. "Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn't giving us anything."

"So we asked for our money back," George glowered.

"He didn't refuse?"

"Right in one," Fred said grimly.

"But that was all your savings!" Ron blurted.

"Tell me about it," George said. "'Course, we found out what was going on, actually it was the night of the Third Task. Lee Jordan's dad had had a bit of trouble getting gold off Bagman too; turns out he's in _big_ trouble with goblins. Mugged him after the World Cup, but it wasn't enough to cover his debts. They followed him to Hogwarts, to keep an eye on him. He's lost _everything_ gambling, hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay them back?"

"How?"

"He put a bet on you, mate," Fred told Harry. "Put a big bet on you to win the Tournament. Bet against the goblins."

"So that's why he kept offering me help," Harry said. "Well - I did win, didn't I? After everything, I still got the Cup. So he can pay you your gold."

"Nope," George said. "Idiot should've known better than to get into bed with goblins, Bill's always warning us; they play dirtier than Bagman. Cunning. Make Slytherin look like a doormat. They say you _drew_ with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman scarpered, right after the Third Task." George sighed deeply, and seemed to console himself with a small apple strudel, as Fred picked apart a cheese straw.

Aching from fullness, Harry groaned and settled into his mattress, giving a mental thanks to the house-elf who had put the warming-pan between the sheets, and settled in for what he hoped was a deep and undisturbed sleep.

* * *

It didn't come, and Harry frowned at the ceiling of his four-poster, realising that he was still burning with irritation on the twins' behalf, for their loss, more even than his own, for being _wagered_ on.

So Bagman was a gambler, rather than a Death Eater, but he had still managed to upturn the twins' dreams. His addiction had ruined their ambitions.

As Ron's snores filled the room and Neville snuffled as he turned over, Harry sat up, still irritated, trying to figure out how to get the feeling to stop churning in the pit of his stomach.

Finally, he had it. Careful so as not to wake the others, Harry crept out of bed, unlocked his trunk, and lifted out the small sack that had been dumped unceremoniously on his nightstand by a stony-faced Ministry representative. His Triwizard winnings.

He had never been inside the twins' dormitory; a seam of golden light showed there was someone still awake inside, and when he pushed the door open, it was to find the twins in their identical pyjamas, sat on one of their four-poster beds, poring over a huge and very tactile-looking book stuffed with bits of parchment and stiff card and things that glinted in the lamplight.

"Harry, what - ?"

"Take it," he said, and thrust the money-bag into George's hands.

"What?" Fred looked flabbergasted - a rare expression on his face. Harry savoured it, grinning.

" _Take it_ ," Harry said firmly, as the bag clinked and clattered with the sound of gold coins. "I don't want it."

"You're mental," George said, staring at him, even as he tried to push the sack back on Harry.

"No, I'm not," Harry said adamantly. "You take it, and get inventing. It's for the joke-shop."

"He _is_ mental," Fred said, in a tone that sounded almost awed.

"Listen, it should've been Cedric's. If you don't take it, I'm throwing it into the lake," Harry said stubbornly. "I don't want it, and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs, I think we could all do with a few laughs. We're all going to need them more than usual before long."

"Harry, there's got to be about a thousand Galleons in here," George said weakly, weighing the bag in his hands.

" _Exactly_ a thousand," Harry grinned. "Think how many Canary Creams that is."

The twins stared at him.

"Do us a favour, buy Ron some new dress-robes, and tell him they're from you. And - just _don't_ tell your mum I gave you the money…"

"Harry," Fred began, but Harry pulled his wand out.

"Take it or I'll hex you," he said fiercely, backing away to the door. At the threshold, he warned them, "I know some really good ones now."

Very few times could anyone claim to have left the Weasley twins speechless: Harry would savour the rare moment for decades to come.

He was climbing back into his own bed when he heard the mini-explosion coming from the twins' dormitory, Fred and George whooping and yelling with so much enthusiasm, letting off the last of their supply of Dr Filibuster's No-Heat, Wet-Start fireworks, that an intense and short-lived party started in the boys' tower. Everyone was so used to the twins' end-of-year enthusiasm that they didn't bother to ask _what_ had set the twins off this time: People just enjoyed the party. Lee Jordan tuned the wireless to _Radio Rock_ , playing the late-night punk programme; Harry and Ron returned from a quick trip to the kitchens laden with enough food to leave a small militia in agony from indigestion, courtesy of Dobby; games were played; and a contraband bottle of something very strong, produced by one of the Durmstrang girls, was passed around.

When Professor McGonagall appeared in her tartan dressing-gown, she seemed torn between punishing them for their enthusiasm, the contraband alcohol and the number of students out of bed listening to punk-rock at two a.m. packed into the sixth-year boys' dormitory like sardines, and letting them get away with it; because among her notorious Gryffindors were the Durmstrang students, bright-eyed from potent drink, wrapped around Gryffindor students, stifling grins and hiding food behind their backs as _Radio Rock_ announced that the next song would be from the Muggle punk studio-album, _'Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols_ '.

The impromptu Wednesday-night party ended without loss of House points: Professor McGonagall made them pay for it at dawn the next morning, however, helping Professor Sprout by de-gnoming the kitchen gardens before breakfast.

* * *

Though no-one seemed to have the nerve to approach him, all anyone seemed to be able to talk about until the end of term was Lord Voldemort; what Harry had endured in the graveyard; Cedric's death; and Magical Law Enforcement walking out on the Ministry.

The brief flurry of intense interest in Neville's parents fizzled out, mostly due to the fact that Neville did not rise to the bait. Neville handled everything, Harry privately thought, with a dignity he, Harry, did not possess. Neville spent a lot of time in the greenhouses; and people left him to his plants.

With an enthusiasm bordering on religious zeal, Hermione pored over _The Phoenix_ morning and evening, which further investigated on the goings-on at the Ministry, including Fudge's apoplectic reaction to the coup: and reaffirming Madam Bones' determination to bring about justice, egalitarian reforms in Wizengamot law, and the removal of Dementors from Azkaban, for a start. It was speculated that with the new Wizengamot ruling on the use of Veritaserum, retrial of the most notorious convicted criminals might occur to harvest intelligence against the new threat.

The students of Hogwarts learned that Mad-Eye Moody had discharged himself from the Hospital Wing only when _The Phoenix_ announced that the paranoid wizard had created a ruckus at the new Auror Headquarters when he broke in and caught half the junior staff unprepared - just to prove a point.

 _Elementary Wand Safety_ was a sensible little article published by Mad-Eye in the newspaper the next morning; and following the admission of several Auror Office administration staff to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, a larger article on basic Healing charms and Dark remedies was written up and published by Head Healer Lark of the dedicated Hit Wizards Ward.

The section at the back of the paper named _Letters to the Editor_ featured letters sent via owl that reflected the deep polarisation of the nation - on the one hand, some believed that Harry was every inch the hero they all believed him to be, and called for Madam Bones to take over the position of Minister for Magic with immediate effect. On the other, some believed that Harry couldn't stand not winning the Triwizard Cup and had made up Lord Voldemort's return to cover up a duel gone wrong; they thought Madam Bones should be arrested for collusion and all those who supported her stripped of their positions and authority.

The word _irrefutable_ appeared a lot in _The Phoenix_ articles. At every turn, the _Phoenix_ staff seemed determined to drill into their readers' minds that everything they put into writing was true, and backed up by overwhelming evidence.

While he remained in the Hospital Wing, Harry was spared the morning post. His first breakfast down in the Great Hall with the rest of the students - lessons had resumed for the final week of term, though the teachers did not seem to anticipate they would get any real work done - a flurry of owls descended upon the Gryffindor Table - and, interestingly, the Hufflepuff Table, where Susan Bones and her brothers had gained a certain celebrity status as Amelia Bones' niece and nephews. Perhaps wisely, Professor McGonagall confiscated all post sent to either Harry or the Boneses, and McGonagall informed them both in the Entrance Hall before lunch that day that two of the letters sent to Harry had nasty jinxes on them from non-believers who thought him a troublemaker, while one parcel for Susan had contained a box of chocolates filled with Draught of Living Death.

With her aunt's new celebrity, the poisoned gift and a gruesome sort of reflected fame from the school learning that most of Susan's family had been murdered by Death Eaters, or by You-Know-Who personally, Susan admitted to Harry during their last double-Herbology lesson of the year that she now had a pretty good idea how it felt to be Harry.

"And I don't know how you stand it, it's horrible," she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in protest.

"Yeah, well…you learn to just ignore it."

"Has anyone ever sent _you_ poisoned sweets?" Susan asked dubiously.

"No…but earlier this year someone sent Hermione an envelope filled with Bubotuba pus," Harry said. "Because of what Rita Skeeter wrote about her being my girlfriend…" He rolled his eyes to show his disdain, and her lips twitched toward a smile. "Have you told your family about the chocolates?"

"Oh, I don't want to worry them, my aunt has enough to be getting on with, and she'll need my parents' support," Susan said, shrugging slightly. She made an elegant little move that sent the shining coils of her long braid over her shoulder. "Anyway, Professor Sprout says all post is going to be searched before its passed on to us, just to be sure. So they're going to have to be a lot cleverer if they want to target me." Harry sighed to himself, gently tamping earth around his Screechsnap seedlings; they shouldn't have to worry about that sort of thing. Surprising Harry, Susan said, a few minutes later, her cheeks colouring delicately, "I'm sorry for the badges, Harry - you know, when the names were drawn for the Tournament. The _Potter Stinks_ ones…"

"I know it was Malfoy who made those," Harry shrugged, though the memory of them did sting.

"Yes, but we all wore them," Susan said shamefacedly. "Cedric still had to ask us not to wear them…" As Harry went cold, a very stark look flickered across Susan's face, and she doused her tray of Screechsnap seedlings with so much water, Neville had to swoop in and deftly rescue them from drowning, shrieking and wailing indignantly all the while. Professor Sprout chalked it up to overheating in the vast, humid greenhouse, and gave Susan a dose from one of the irrefutably beautiful, exotic and magical pitcher orchids colloquially known as the _Helga's Slipper_ , which excreted a well of bubbling sap that tasted like their favourite hot meal and gave a confidence-boosting burn like a shot of firewhiskey when diluted properly.

The professor and Head of Hufflepuff House squinted at Harry in the sunlight, and gave him a healthy dose, too. He was reminded of the way he had felt under the influence of the Imperius Curse, slightly; a little more relaxed, full of an easy confidence. The Herbology teacher patted Harry's shoulder, and moved on to instruct Ernie Macmillan in how to properly repot his seedlings - she called Neville over to show Ernie, leaving Harry and Susan to their own seedlings.

It was probably one of the first real conversations Harry had had with Susan, but he liked talking to her; their backs bent, sweating in the heat of the humid greenhouse, he kept having to tuck her long braid back over her shoulder, and she pushed his glasses back up his nose when his hands were full of manure; they talked about their dreaded Herbology summer assignments, and their gardens at home - Harry told her that he was basically the live-in gardener for the Dursleys, where everything was manicured and clipped and unnaturally orderly. He preferred the Burrow, or the Hogwarts greenhouses - he was surprised to learn that Susan had visited _Neville_ , who had a beautiful garden and greenhouse at his grandmother's house.

Susan's grandmother had been friends with Neville's grandmother - before Voldemort had killed her, and Susan's grandfather. Susan's parents and Neville's grandmother had thought it good to introduce the children and encourage them to play when they were little; Susan confessed to Harry that she had been disappointed that Neville wasn't Sorted into Hufflepuff - "He's so hard-working, I always thought he should've been, but then…well, with what everyone's learned about his parents, I'm not surprised he's in Gryffindor, now. I thought they'd been killed, but…I can't imagine going on knowing my mum and dad don't even recognise me, and then to be bullied at school all the time, just for being quiet and kind…"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, staring across the greenhouse at Neville, who was in his element amongst the lush greenery, content and confident, and, Harry noted grudgingly, he seemed to have grown taller since Harry last looked at him properly.

Professor Sprout ended the lesson fifteen minutes early so they could clean up, refine their notes on their summer assignments, and the students who wanted to could take cuttings to take home and care for over the summer, declaring they would be learning all about _Helga's Slipper_ next year, when they would also be revising the past four years' worth of course-material in preparation for their O.W.L. exams.

Harry left the greenhouse feeling sweaty and panicked as Hermione fretted about getting her summer revision schedule organised.

When she dashed off to the library clutching a long list of titles she wanted to check out of the library for the summer, Harry turned, anxious, to Ron, whose expression alone reassured him that Ron, at least, hadn't given any thought to summer revision, or even remembered that next June they would be sitting their Ordinary Wizarding Level exams.

Somewhat relieved, Harry tucked into his strawberry tart, and gaped when Viktor Krum appeared, broomstick in hand, asking _if Harry wanted to play a game of Quidditch with him_ …

So it was that the last week of school ended on an extraordinary high - considering the week prior - with nearly the entire school turning out after dinner to watch from the stands as an impromptu game of Quidditch brought three schools together as nothing quite yet had. In a lingering sunset that painted the sky pink, violet and plum, everything vividly gilded by a rare Scottish summer sunset, students, ghosts and professors alike gathered in the stands.

Harry, Krum, the twins, and anyone with a broom and an enthusiasm for Quidditch drew names out of a pot, no-one denied, their t-shirts Transfigured different colours to denote teams, and it had to be the first game ever played with three Quaffles, four Bludgers, and an International Quidditch Player teaching the Hogwarts' favourite Seeker how to execute his signature moves faultlessly as they searched for the tiny Snitch, glinting delicately in the dying sun.

There were no Houses, no schools, no language barriers or culture clashes; only the _game_.

The sunlight glowed off Dumbledore's beard as he sat amongst his students, eating sweets, Fawkes perched on top of a familiar tea-cosy, Dobby gazing avidly and cheering with the crowds; Madam Hooch was too distracted crying with delight as she watched Krum fly to properly referee the game, so it was _McGonagall_ who took to the air with a whistle and an unbridled smile people rarely saw. Harry heard Hagrid's roars of encouragement and delight over the tumult of the crowd; and there, standing with Hermione and Neville, transformed into a man, unrecognisable as the mass-murderer who had escaped Azkaban to kill him, and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone, was _Sirius_.

The impromptu Quidditch 'friendly' that occurred that afternoon, instigated by a Durmstrang boy who missed flying more than anything, and who wanted to play against Hogwarts' youngest Seeker in a century, the game that excluded no-one who wanted to play, and united everyone in the stands, screaming for their friends, became, forever after, the final celebration marking the end of each modern Triwizard Tournament.

Krum's team won; but Harry caught the Snitch.

* * *

 **A.N.** : Because that's how it should've ended…

In this fic, Ginny is gay, but not for Luna. Draco has younger-siblings. Also, I'm going to flesh out Susan Bones' character. I love that her name is descended from the Hebrew name Shoshanna, which means 'a lily, a rose'. A _flower_ name, people! And she's a Hufflepuff, and we all know how badass, patient, creative, wonderful, kind, powerful Hufflepuffs are (I'm looking at you, Newt, and you, Tonks. You both do Helga proud). Plus her aunt just staged a political coup just to help the British people prepare for Voldemort's rise to power: Even though I made her do that, I love her for it!

I can't remember if I've addressed this yet, or not, but I categorically and ferociously and will eternally deny that _Cursed Child_ is anything to do with canon. We have all read better fanfictions! So, ignoring that.


	10. Ancient and Most Noble House of Black

**A.N.** : So here we meet two characters alluded to in the first chapter…

And I've thought of the perfect name for Harry's theoretical future firstborn… _Ruby_ …after the kindest, bravest and gentlest person in Harry's life, and his first ever friend, Rubeus Hagrid.

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black_

* * *

The high-ceilinged Georgian townhouse was stubbornly vile, the dank walls oozing mould and an ominous ticking noise like a distant but fast-approaching horde of locusts. It had once been a grand neighbourhood, and a manicured home; vestiges of a prestigious past were hinted at in the huge age-blackened oil-paintings and silver candelabrum glinting dully on antique furniture buried beneath a solid inch of dust.

The hissing, ticking, scuttling, the eerie neglected paintings, the sound of _damp_ , the pervasive shadows and mirrored windows and the generally oppressive, caged feeling of being entirely enclosed made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end, and his breath come in short, shallow bursts, reminded far too vividly of Azkaban.

And of the memories he had been forced to endure as a prisoner there, a good portion of them in this house…

He hadn't been back to Number Twelve since the summer he had walked out, months shy of his sixteenth birthday and his fifth year at Hogwarts.

Sirius may have joked that the House of Black just kept getting blacker, even when he was a boy; but his parents had been nothing if not house-proud. What he remembered most from his childhood was the cold: The house had always been very beautiful, very clean, and he wasn't allowed to touch anything - for good reason, as half the artefacts in the house were Dark by nature. But it had always seemed _perfect_ , nothing out of place, not a speck of dust or smear of grease anywhere it ought not to be.

Ten years without his mother's Evil Eye to notice an incorrectly-folded napkin or an eyelash that had shed on her inlaid occasional table, and this is what the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black had deteriorated to.

Finally, the house reflected its former owners.

He might have enjoyed leaving it as it was; a relic of glorious pureblood pride, passed down through the generations.

Sirius _hated_ this place; he was amused by the state of it. He also regretted that it would need to be cleansed from top to bottom before it was suitable for habitation. He may be used to Azkaban, but he wouldn't inflict squalor on others. Maybe his worst enemies…

The house had its own unnameable smell, a kind of cloying tang that made the eyes water, the closeness of the air suffocating; it had its own _sound_ , too, a strange mixture of scuttling, moaning, soft hisses, the rude chatter of a jarvey infestation in the large library, the sluggish sound of _damp_ , the rustle of leaves through the shattered conservatory windows, the greenhouse overgrown, something phosphorescent glowing amid the gloom and the Devil's Snare that was slowly but surely taking over the corridor.

Two of the best days of his life had been the day he had left to take the Hogwarts Express for the first time; and the day he had packed up his trunk just after breakfast in early August, and left without a backward glance.

The only room he had ever liked was the drawing-room: it was a very long, wide hall, and was the one place he used to be able to practice flying - he wasn't allowed, of course, but that had never stopped him. Once, the drawing-room had been a gallery, and the most beautiful of the public rooms in the house, with huge tall windows, polished floors and silk-lined walls hung with oil-paintings of his ancestors, plinths topped with busts of notable forefathers, priceless antiques on display. With a sprung floor, it had been intended to be a ballroom; due to their rigid prejudices, his grandparents had kept a very limited social circle and the room was rarely used. His grandmother had turned it into a drawing-room; she had been the one to charm all the windows in the house to be mirrored. If one squinted, one could see through to the street below, but his family had had no interest in keeping up with the movements of their Muggle neighbours, except to ensure they came nowhere near the front-door. Sirius had spent a lot of time squinting through the windows of Number Twelve, wondering at the world outside.

"I imagine this is what the cleft between Slytherin's buttocks resembles," he murmured, staring at the ancient, grubby tapestry on the wall, peppered with small burn-marks, as a shadow slipped into the room behind him.

"Never given it much thought, personally," Moony said, glancing around the room, taking in the peeling ceiling, the damp silk wallpaper and the writing-desk in the corner, which seemed to be shuddering. The heavy velvet curtains over the windows were humming loudly; and Dark objects glimmered eerily in glass-fronted cabinets. Sirius was never stupid enough to touch anything inside those; his parents' coveted treasures, inherited from wizards who had lived during "better days." The Dark objects seemed to glint malevolently at him.

"What do you reckon?" he asked his old friend.

"A little more light, perhaps," Moony said dubiously, and fire suddenly crackled in his palm, which he held aloft, examining the damage further, a family of mice twitching their whiskers at them from a hole in a cushion on the sofa, embroidered with the Black family crest by, if Sirius wasn't mistaken, his Great-Aunt Elladora. "I'd hoped the firelight might improve the state of things: I was wrong."

"On a positive note, it's the last place anyone would think to look for us," Sirius said, grinning at Remus. They made their way around the house, poking heads into bedrooms and dressing-rooms, the study, the parlour and breakfast-room, the billiards room and the two libraries, the nursery and schoolroom. There was dust and rot everywhere, strange things growing, unseen critters scuttling behind skirting-boards – Sirius knew every secret passage, cupboard, drawer and alcohol-cache in the place (had emptied _them_ when he'd run away!) and knew they were probably infested with magical creatures and fungi and mould that festered determinedly – was surprised and rather impressed that the house hadn't been laid waste by an ashwinder nest or a chizpurfle infestation.

A grandfather clock nearly concussed Moony when it shot a bolt at him as they passed; there was an aggressive ghoul in one of the upstairs bathrooms; and strange fungi and spores grew in the danker rooms Sirius couldn't remember being used even when he had grown up here. At every turn, Sirius anticipated attack; whether from a lethifold or a nest of rats. They explored the dining-room, with its serpentine chandelier, sweeping silver-inlaid table and enormous Chinoiserie-style Chippendale cabinet displaying all the Black family's antique silver - though it was as age-blackened as the portraits on the walls, covered in dust, now, and glinted only dully in the light from Moony's conjured fire.

"This room doesn't seem so bad," Remus said, gazing around, taking in the massive cobwebs in the corners, but at least the ceiling showed no signs of damp or rot. The chandelier did seem to hiss aggressively at them like so many silver snakes, but that was more a trick of the light and the emeralds embedded into the arms.

"No, it wouldn't be; this room was rarely used, except when my aunt and uncle descended for a visit," Sirius said grimly. "I doubt very much was kept in here at all. Only the finest family silver."

"And a rather large bird," Remus said, indicating a very large silver cage shaped like a pagoda in the corner of the room. His lips twitched. "Unless this was for you?"

"My father had an augurey," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "The greenhouse was my father's, he liked to nurture poisonous, carnivorous plants. Was never bitten; I'm assuming the plants sensed _he_ was toxic. The augurey let him know when he could expect rainfall. I expect my mother moved the bird in here when my father died; she never could stand the moaning - from the bird, _or_ my father."

Moony opened the door to the hall, and a soft voice said, "You know, Remus, this is not a very nice place to meet."

Out of instinct, both wizards drew their wands and fired hexes through the door.

"What was _that_?!" the same voice asked indignantly.

"For one thing, rude," answered a smoky, feminine voice.

A grinning face appeared, a young and already very handsome boy with warm cocoa-caramel skin and a strong jaw, peering at them in the wand-light. Sirius stopped still, his stomach turning to lead. He knew those high cheekbones, that jawline; he had been born with wide, plump lips like Sirius' - he knew those vibrant, changeable grey eyes… The very best of him and Ellaria mixed together…

He flitted a glance at Remus, who was stowing his wand and rolling his eyes. "Rigel!" he exclaimed, not truly annoyed, but shaking himself. "We almost hexed you!"

"Hence the Shield Charm," Rigel grinned, and his smile was straight and white and infectious and very like his mother's - though not quite as rare. Sirius' heart stopped.

"How did you get in here? The front-door was locked," Remus frowned, and Sirius followed him into the entrance hall, on edge.

"How's a girl to resist?" purred the sultry female voice. Sirius' heart squeezed, and started thumping wildly. They were both _here_?

"Hello, Maia," Remus said warmly. They stepped into the entrance hall, which had been transformed by large golden bubbles that drifted across the ceiling, exuding a soft amber glow that somehow seemed to cast the room in a warmer but nowhere near flattering light. They illuminated the severed troll's leg umbrella stand, the doxy-eaten carpets, the dank walls hung with velvet curtains and the decade's worth of cobwebs draping the serpentine chandelier with its jade lamps etched with the Black family crest and the single bauble of tarnished silver filigree.

In a state of numb disbelief, Sirius stared. There they were. His _babies_.

In scuffed boots that seemed too big for him, with his dark denims tucked haphazardly into them, his wrists packed with textured bracelets and a chunky watch, his t-shirt betraying how slender his frame was, how young he still was, Rigel was draped languidly against the wall as if it was natural to find himself in a festering, eerie place full of Dark artefacts, and to deflect hexes flung at him by adult wizards. Sirius narrowed his eyes at the boy; he hoped the tattoos drawn intricately on his arms were fake. He twirled a sleek oak wand between clever fingers decorated with chunky silver rings, his cheekbones popping as he smirked and glanced over his shoulder at his elder sister - his eyes briefly flickered with delight mingled with concern as they landed on her.

Maia.

She was no longer the little poppet of his memory, or the skinny little girl who commanded Fiendfyre against an army of the dead. Standing within an inch of her mother's height, she had grown into a beauty. And she looked so like Rigel it was quite unnerving - or rather, Rigel resembled his older sister a great deal; the two shared the same jawline, the same high cheekbones. Maia's lips were even plumper than Rigel's, naturally pouting; she had neater eyebrows, hovering expressively over extraordinary hazel eyes, soft sage-green striated with amber and smoky quartz, inside a ring of dark grey-green. Her nose was more delicate than her brother's, more like Ellaria's…

But Sirius was struck a painful blow, emotionally winded by the sight of his children who so closely resembled him, and who were strangers. The two resembled their parents, but with deliberate mistakes: Maia had the delicate mole on her chin that Ellaria did, and Ell's long, fine eyelashes, and Rigel's smile was more like Ellaria's, the shape of his eyes were hers. It had never mattered that their skin-tone was different: he loved Ell's, and loved their children for inheriting it. And they _were_ Sirius' children; it was never more evident than now, now that they were adolescents, now that his son was growing into maturity that would reflect just how much he resembled Sirius, and now that Maia was grown, with the extraordinarily beautiful eyes he had noticed the moment she was born, inheriting _his_ large hands and long clever fingers and the same constellation of tiny moles down her front that he had.

Maia had been a gorgeous little truffle when she was a baby, delicate and cocoa-skinned and, before she was even born, unnervingly magical.

He had seen with his own eyes, through Ellaria's memory, the _power_ Maia wielded as a child.

Now she stood, a young woman, tall and beautiful, long legs tucked into heavy boots like Rigel's, a delicate hem fluttering from under the oversized leather jacket that shrouded her body, and that Sirius recognised from one of its past incarnations. Her natural curls were no longer allowed to grow rampant like a lion's mane; she had arranged her headful of tiny glossy box braids to frame her face, some of them pulled back into a bun, the rest loose down her back to her waist, partly undone, shining, some of them glinting with tiny gold rings and bells, even a small, colourful feather. When she raised her face to examine the chandelier, the light glinted off a tiny gold septum-ring and glittered off the multitude of studs piercing her ears and the earrings tangled with her braids.

Sirius hadn't had the time to dread his estranged children's reaction to meeting him for the first time; he hadn't had time to even think about the _possibility_ of meeting them so soon. But here they were.

And he had no idea what to do or say.

It suddenly felt a very long time since Sirius had seen his children.

They weren't babies anymore. Rigel was no longer the tiny baby screaming through dragon-pox; and Maia was no longer the little darling he had held while he sobbed, broken by the sight of James and Lily… Before he had headed off to do what only he knew needed to be done, he had held the daughter he loved above anything, one of the two best things he had ever done in his life…

"Excuse me," said a tiny voice, making him jump, and look down at the floor, "but you're standing on my skirt." Beneath an occasional table was a little girl. She had to be four or five, fair-skinned, with glorious golden ringlets, impish blue eyes and a pearly smile. She was lying under the table, cradling something in one hand on her stomach, and Sirius was indeed standing on the hem of her skirt.

"Very sorry," he said sincerely, removing his foot. He raised an eyebrow, squatting down beside her. "And _you_ are lying under my table."

"I'm truffle-hunting," said the little girl.

"Pardon?" She pointed at the underside of the table, and Sirius twisted to get a good look.

" _Fungi_." The girl beamed.

"Oh," he grimaced. The underside of the table was now host to a mass of rather impressive blood-red mushrooms, which had obviously discovered prime growing conditions. "Oh, now, that's _rare_. Look at that colouration, you won't find another like it growing wild in Britain."

"We're in London! Not exactly the wilderness," said Rigel, grinning easily.

"You haven't seen the greenhouse yet," Sirius warned him darkly.

"Opal, come out from under there, you'll get mould all over your clothes," Maia said gently.

"I'm earning my keep!" Opal said, tongue sticking out in concentration as she stared up at the mushrooms. Sirius bit his lip, and glanced over at his son. Maia shot her brother a shrewd look.

"Did you teach her that?"

"I would never."

"Raja says I'm a shameless freeloader," Opal informed Sirius, who realised that she spoke with a lisp on her Ss and Rs, which made the entire sentence sound more hilarious than it should.

"Did he giggle when he taught you to say that?" Maia asked, strolling over elegantly, to offer her hand and pull Opal to her feet.

"Yes. But I don't know why - _OW!_ " She yelped loudly, waving her hand and darting away from the table.

They all jumped out of their skins as moth-eaten curtains flew open, and a _hideous_ old woman, apoplectic with rage, frothing and drooling, eyes rolling, started screaming at them:" _FILTH! SCUM!_ _VERMI_ \- !"

It took no more than two seconds: one moment Walburga Black was shrieking at them, the next, no fewer than three curses had been flung across the hall.

It was Maia who had cursed the painting of Sirius' mother, and Sirius noticed something then: His daughter was traumatised. He had seen that look on grown wizards before, on her mother, too, anyone who had had a near-miss in the Order. He and James had had more than their fair share. He had seen that look on Maia's face as they crossed the lake.

Maia had reacted instantaneously to the unexpected shrieking: Her eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling in shallow pants beneath her leather jacket, her features seemingly carved from stone, her body-language thrumming with tension, predatory, wary. She stared at the now-silent portrait for a long moment, as the rest of them shivered - both at the shock of Mrs Black's verbal attack in the silence, and at the ferocity of Maia's reaction. She had extraordinary duelling reflexes.

"It's only a painting," said Rigel, breaking the silence. He approached his sister slowly, always within her line of sight, and reached out to clasp her wrist, gently lowering her wand-arm. "C'mon…it's alright…c'mon…"

Exchanging a darkly significant look with Remus, Sirius started when little Opal tucked herself behind his leg, hugging his knee, her eyes on Maia and her expression very sad, and strangely understanding for such a young face; she held her hand in front of her, and Sirius could see it was starting to turn blue.

"Oh dear!" he ducked down, squatting in front of her, to take her hand tenderly and try to unfurl the swollen fingers.

"It _bit_ me," she sniffled, casting the table - and its fungal freeloader - a wounded look. Sirius glanced around when a pair of boots appeared next to him; and Maia contorted to look under the table.

"You're lucky it didn't eat you," Maia told the little girl, glancing back to examine the mushrooms. "They feed off the energy created from Dark magic. They like to snarfle little dumplings for a treat." Opal's lip trembled, and she scooted a little closer to Sirius, who couldn't tell by Maia's expression whether or not she was joking.

"Only thing for it," sighed Rigel resignedly, peering interestedly at Opal's hand. "Amputation. Muggles do it all the time. One blow, just below the elbow - we can borrow Patmore's cleaver."

" _No_ ," Opal moaned tearfully, tucking herself against Sirius, who caught Rigel's eye and tried to hide a smirk, and failed. He rolled his eyes, and rested his palm on top of Opal's blonde curls.

"Don't wind her up," Maia chided quietly, and another door opened onto the hall. Sirius stared.

" _Kreacher_?"

His ear-hair as soft and fluffy as cotton-wool, draped in a blindingly white towel clasped with a hat-pin enamelled with the Black family crest, wearing a malevolent expression and wielding a cleaver, was his family's ancient elf.

"We heard a Banshee screeching," Kreacher said, narrowing his eyes on the now-cursed portrait directly opposite the front-door. The moth-eaten velvet curtains were still flung aside, but Walburga Black's screams were now stifled by a gag, and the decrepit old woman was writhing in her shining silver bindings that hissed where they touched skin. Sirius grimaced; tiny tentacles appeared to have started sprouting all over sickly purplish-grey skin that was rapidly decaying. "My mistress's portrait…"

"I think it's an improvement," Sirius said idly, approaching the painting. Even through agony, Walburga Black locked eyes on her disappointment of a son and hissed at him, snatching her claw-like hands at him, as much as the silver bindings allowed.

"Welcome home, Mr Black," Kreacher said, in his unforgettable bullfrog's croak. Sirius gaped as the elf swept him a deep bow, was further shocked by the kindly smile on his face, as if Kreacher was genuinely _happy to see him_.

"We should probably get that off the wall," Rigel said, wincing at the painting. "Maia, what curses did you use? I like the skin-rot, adds a real flair. What could be more welcoming, really?"

"Kreacher will see to it," Kreacher told Rigel, and Sirius was flummoxed by the tender look on his face when Kreacher sidled up to Opal, as if approaching a coveted treasure. "How is you always getting into hijinks, Miss Opal?"

"It was the mushroom that bit me!" Opal said tearfully, her fingertips now turning purple.

Remus flicked his wand, and the velvet curtains drew across the painting, blocking it from view. They were left in an unsettled sort of silence. Sirius was hyper-aware that he was with his _children_ for the first time in thirteen years. He exchanged the briefest of looks with his old friend, who sighed softly.

"I believe you're taller again since last time I saw you, Raja," Remus said, and Rigel grinned, capturing Remus in a fierce embrace that seemed to take him by surprise, but Remus smiled, pleased.

"Stretching Jinx," Maia murmured, eyes on Opal's hand, and Rigel grinned easily. Remus leaned in and Maia gave his cheek a delicate kiss before she gently hugged him; Remus lingered a moment longer, and Sirius saw the sad look on Maia's face as she relaxed into Remus' embrace.

"You look tired," Remus said, which Sirius found ironic. The full-moon had just passed; Moony always faintly resembled an insomniac. Maia gave Remus a tiny, tense smile, little more than a twitch of the corners of her lips; her eyes remained tired, smudged with dark circles under them.

"We've missed you," she told him.

"I've got _loads_ of new recipes to try out on you," Rigel said, grinning enthusiastically, and Remus stifled a grimace, casting a wary look at Maia.

"You don't have to eat them," she told him, barely moving her lips, and her eyes glinted with amusement.

"Oi!" Rigel gasped at her. "I'm an excellent cook!"

"Meatballs _à la_ _crème brûlée_ would suggest otherwise," Maia said, her lips twitching.

"It was an experiment," Rigel said, his expression defiant. "Did it work? No. Who would've thought?"

"Everyone. Everyone told you it wouldn't work."

"But you liked the paprika meatballs," Rigel said, and Maia's lips twitched again. She shared an indulgent look with Remus, who stooped to give kisses to Opal, and a cuddle, which made her beam.

"Uncle Remus," Opal said innocently, gazing at Sirius, "who's your friend?"

There was a moment's hesitation, then Remus said quietly, "This is Sirius Black."

There was a moment of silence, then Maia flicked her intense hazel eyes at Sirius. She murmured, "He's our father, Opal." So they knew who he was: They weren't screaming, or throwing more curses. That was something.

"Mine, too?" Opal asked, turning owl-eyes on him.

"No…no, not yours," Maia said, even more quietly, looking very sad. Sirius could see the dark smudges under her eyes, the unhappy tilt to the corners of her plump lips. She still had freckles on the bridge of her nose, unexpected and pretty, but she looked exhausted. "You know that, Opal."

"He has your nostrils, Maia," Opal observed, peering up at Sirius. She twinkled at him. "Only _I_ can see that." He chuckled softly.

Rigel flashed Sirius a grin, before giving Sirius the same bone-crunching hug he had given Remus, and an enthusiastic grin. It shocked him. He hadn't been in a habit of imagining any kind of reunion with his children - not so soon, at least; Ellaria had made no mention of arranging a meeting. But this was just her style; throw them all in with dragons and see who survived.

"See, Mai, I _told you_ we looked like him. Look at him! I can't _wait_ to grow into my jaw! Like an _anvil_!" And he reached up to clasp Sirius' jaw in his hands, grinning broadly. His bright grey eyes - _Sirius'_ eyes - glowed vibrantly as they scanned Sirius' face, seemingly trying to memorise every detail. Behind him, Remus was smiling warmly, shaking his head. Six months younger than Harry, Sirius had just missed Rigel's fourteenth birthday. He was slender as a sapling but already inches away from his sister's height; he had broad shoulders, and would bulk out the same way Sirius had by the time he turned eighteen.

Maia was months away from her sixteenth birthday. And she was more hesitant; she gave Sirius a cool, penetrating look, her hands in the pockets of her leather-jacket - _his_ ancient leather jacket, with a few creative modifications - hugging it across her front.

"I'm glad to see my jacket's still getting some good use," he said, because honestly he couldn't think of anything else to say. He wasn't prepared for this! At least it was going better than meeting Harry for the first time… Maia glanced down at her front, the faded leather, studded and embellished, embroidered and patched, even painted in places.

"Mother gave it to me," she said quietly.

"She used to wear it all the time," Rigel told him. "Ellaria, I mean. She gave it to Maia after school sports day -" He broke off quickly, shooting his sister an almost frightened look; Sirius thought Maia's eyes had hardened, but she was looking resolutely down at the glinting zip of her inherited jacket. "Anyway - Mother says the jacket's saved her life a few times."

"The Shield Charms worked well, then," Sirius said, eyeing the jacket. He wondered what stories each of the embellishments and repairs told.

"They'd worn off a little," said Maia quietly, slinking tentatively forward as if she was a cat not quite sure of the new person in her territory, delicately scenting the air and assessing the danger.

"Well," Sirius sighed, motioning for her to turn around, which she did, slowly, so he could see the personalisation on the jacket, "time's been kinder to the jacket than it has me."

"Mother loved this jacket," Maia said quietly, and Sirius nodded, smiling sadly, reminiscing. Of course Ellaria loved this jacket; _he_ loved this jacket. It was forever tied with memories of his motorcycle, their breathlessly intense courtship, the thrill of war…

"Now it's yours," Sirius said.

"You can…have it back if you -"

"No," Sirius shook his head, taking in the vision of his slender daughter shrouded in his heavy leather jacket, with her tiny braids, colourful hem and heavy boots. "No…it's yours." His eyes drifted to the studs glittering in her ears, the flashes of blue from her earrings. He reached out, and her eyes were wary, but he merely tucked some braids over her shoulder so he could touch her earrings, one of them a small glass Evil Eye. There were tiny delicate gold hoops with little gold balls, a vibrant diamond star, a diamond stud, the tiniest of gold bumblebees. "How many holes in one's head does it take to be deemed cool these days?"

"Find someone cool and they'll tell you," Rigel snickered, and Maia's lips twitched toward a smile, even as she rolled her eyes delicately.

"And where _is_ Ellaria?" he asked the room in general, glancing around.

"She's corralling her contacts," Maia told him quietly. "She did say she should be back before the Hogwarts Express reaches King's Cross, otherwise we're to make our way by ourselves; Mother wants us to meet Harry Potter before he goes to his aunt and uncle's house." She stifled a yawn just then, tucking her face against the shoulder of her jacket, her curtain of braids concealing her face, but he did notice a new but fading curse-scar slashed across the right side of her neck, as if someone had tried to magically garrotte her.

"Miss Mai isn't sleeping again," Kreacher accused shrewdly, giving Maia a scrutinising look. "Kreacher can tell; he knows her rambunctious cousins is keeping her up all night, but Miss Mai needs to sleep. She is getting irascible as a Horntail. My poor mistress's portrait…"

"In Mai's defence, it is hideous," Rigel said fairly. "What poor sod had to paint that old hag?"

"Lorenzo Di'Nofrio is a most respected pureblood portraitist, Master Rigel," Kreacher said, somewhat defensively. "Mistress Black paid one hundred gold Galleons for her picture…if my mistress knew it was her grandchildren come to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, oh, she would be in raptures. Babies in the house, and about time, too…" He gave Sirius a rather pointed look that could mean anything, and Sirius felt suddenly as if he was being admonished by Professor McGonagall when he hadn't actually been misbehaving.

"Well, that's one hundred Galleons we're never getting back," Sirius sighed, shaking his head. "I can think of a dozen things they would've been better spent on."

"Downstairs, if you please," Kreacher said, ignoring Sirius' comment, bowing slightly to the children, and Remus, then Sirius. "We mustn't wake the portraits."

Sirius saw Maia briefly pause to gouge a sample of the mushroom from the underside of the table with her wand, levitating it into a glass jar, before following Remus downstairs.

They might have walked into another house, the difference was so startling. An almost tangible wall of scent hit him, warmth and noise mingling for an atmosphere that was almost cosy, compared to the dank, neglected stairwell. The kitchen was the only part of the house that resembled what Sirius remembered; the high-ceilinged room was filled with light and warmth from the huge stove, copper pots and pans shone and reflected light from their shelves. The flagstone floor had been swept, and was so clean it could be eaten off of. The glass-fronted cabinets in the butler's pantry gleamed, the contents glinting in the light streaming through the open windows, which let in the afternoon's breathless warmth. The table had been scrubbed to gleaming, polished and draped with a fine linen tablecloth, places already set for a large gathering, bottles of wine decanted, jugs of iced cordials set along the table, garnished with fresh fruit and mint.

Sirius jumped, as a tiny elf barely two feet tall scuttled past, wearing a set of elegant black chiffon dress-robes, a tape-measure draped around her neck, a pin-cushion bracelet on her wrist, repairing the crochet trim of an old linen pillowcase, murmuring to herself about her "wasted talent." Their industry seemed to make their numbers even greater, but Sirius thought there were at least six house-elves besides Kreacher, stirring at the stove, folding robes in the laundry, servicing the boiler, reorganising the pantry shelves, planting fresh herbs in pots on the deep windowsill, examining the contents of the vast wine cellar.

They _all_ wore clothes, Sirius noted, even the tiniest and most ancient of them, who wore what resembled Buddhist monks' robes in a vibrant blood-red, twisted and draped over his frail-looking form, as he peacefully sat polishing silver, legs crossed. The barrel-shaped elf at the stove wore an apron over her sundress, shouting distractedly at a tiny, nervous-looking young elf called Roux, who wore a pretty pinafore-dress over a floral-patterned blouse and tried desperately to fulfil her orders as the older female elf familiarised herself with a foreign range, and found it equal to her talents. The elf in dress-robes shot a nasty look at the elf by the sink, who had finished potting fresh herbs, and managed to spray compost over the floor as he climbed down from the side, wearing patched corduroy breeches, a linen shirt and a sun-bleached waistcoat. The elf in the wine-cellar wore a three-piece suit tailored beautifully to his tiny frame, with an ascot, a pocket-square folded like a rose, and a golden watch-chain glinting from the pocket of his silk waistcoat; another elf wore child-sized jeans and a t-shirt purchased from a Muggle shop, and which might have been Rigel's hand-me-downs; and an elderly elf snoozing by the fire in a tiny rocking-chair wore a velvet smoking-jacket and carpet-slippers, wrapped in a silk shawl, extremely frail, a halo of white hair glowing in the sunlight.

Remus caught Sirius' eye, communicating without speaking: They knew Ellaria came from an unconventional family, of course, but even they hadn't expected a small contingent of free elves perfectly at their ease in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

As they entered the room, Rigel told off Patmore for "working Roux so hard she doesn't know her arse from her elbow!" Kreacher asked Snodgrass to wipe up the dirt he had spilled; and Opal cooed to the house-elf in dress-robes, Thimbletack, to wake up Tootles for dinner. As pots and pans levitated to pour their contents into tureens and bowls, Magwitch and Jax lifted them out of thin-air to place on the table, in between continuing their other tasks. Other pans were left simmering on the stove, ladles and spoons stirring occasionally, and the gentle hum of activity from the stove and the worktops and the far end of the table - jams were bubbling sluggishly; bread was kneading itself; liquor was pouring itself over great mounds of dried fruit in mason cache bowls; batters pouring themselves into cake-tins; spices were measuring themselves into dishes and rubbing themselves over joints of meat; invisible hands were icing biscuits; pastry was laminating itself with sheets of butter; broad-beans were shelling themselves - were subtle indication that Patmore's magic extended beyond the wood-fired range she dominated like a general overseeing her troops.

"Oh, Miss Opal, what is you doing to yourself?" one of the little female elves asked, peering at Opal's hand in concern as she levitated an enormous ball of linen sheets past the table. Maia and Opal climbed up at the end of the table, and Sirius watched, unnerved by the presence of the elves and by Kreacher's transformation, curious about his son and daughter, and the little girl who had appeared with Maia and Rigel.

Out of the tiny embellished leopard-print handbag that Maia wore draped across her front, she withdrew a handsome apothecary box by its handle and set it on the polished table. Opening the compartments and drawers, she set out a white granite tray with delicate gold handles, a small granite mortar, a beautiful purple blown-glass oil lamp she lit with a twitch of her wand, levitating a tiny silver cauldron over it that revolved and tilted, and the offending mushroom sample, which seemed to be secreting some sort of toxic violent orange sap that smoked inside the jar. Using the contents of the glass jars and phials, Sirius watched, mesmerised, as Maia created an antidote to the venomous spores exuded by the mushroom's bite, which were now turning the little girl's hand purple, her entire body shivering with misery.

"What's that in your other hand, Opal?" Maia asked gently, as she worked deftly, cutting up the mushroom and levitating it into the silver cauldron with the contents of several jars, her focus intense as she measured out another ingredient to the last minute granule on tiny milky-jade scales before adding it with a splash of some viscous liquid that hissed and smoked and sparked on contact.

"His name is Loki," Opal sniffled, and Sirius saw that she cradled in her other hand a tiny cream-and-fawn mouse with a tiny pink nose and enormous ears, which were twitching subtly, curled up fast-asleep. "He's my darling."

Maia had removed her inherited leather jacket, revealing a patterned sleeveless romper that showed off slim arms covered, like her brother's, in elaborate tattoos that Sirius hoped, again, were fake. One was vibrant, detailed, and he thought it depicted a _Zouwu_ , a magical creature from the Far East with a long, flowing pink tail, unusual fangs and a mane that lit up like Filibuster fireworks. It was quite charming to see that she had sunburn on her shoulders; the subtlest hint of imperfection, like the freckles on her nose. They were utterly endearing. Sirius watched as she kneaded, pounded and stirred the contents of the silver cauldron in the mortar with a silver knife, then an onyx pestle, before pouring out the contents directly on the white granite tray to scoop and fold with a very Muggle-looking dark-aqua mini-spatula to create a thick, creamy balm.

Eyeing the mouse, Maia warned gently, "Mother might not let you keep him, Opie."

"But Mummy let you keep me," Opal said fairly, gazing at Maia.

Maia's face melted into a warm look, not quite a smile, as she murmured, "Yes, she did." Sirius glanced at Remus, who gave a tiny shake of his head, as if to say, _Not now_. It would be explained later.

Roux beamed as she skittered past, levitating a dish piled high with blood-orange slices and pale-green melon balls, a tower of choux puffs drenched in thick, vivid raspberry coulis and a tureen of spicy fish soup to the table. She patted Opal's knee on the way back to the range.

Sirius glanced between the two girls: Rigel grinned at him, as he helped Patmore at the stove, wand held aloft like a conductor in front of an orchestra. Feeling suddenly like he had walked into someone else's home, at a loose end for what to do, Sirius decided to sit down, out of the way, and watch Maia, who focused on her task and never turned a hair as Roux tripped over, pirouetting and teary-eyed as she attempted to carry out six contradictory orders from Patmore, sending a dish of spiced okra and mashed sweet-potato splatting against the door to the butler's pantry, and the elves named Magwitch and Dashy, respectively mending the boiler and doing the laundry. The chaos of the house-elves seemed to be normal; Rigel just laughed, and used his wand to clean up the food, which returned to its dish, steaming, leaving Maia to focus on her antidote as Patmore berated tiny Dashy for a minor collision between soiled linens and a dish of fresh garden peas, and Thimbletack quarrelled with Snodgrass about the scent of compost overpowering Roux's creamy _étouffée_.

Supremely patient in the midst of all the noise and disruption, Maia removed all her rings and scooped up the lotion, coating her palms so they glowed phosphorescently, and Opal sniffled, her little lip trembling, but held her painful-looking hand out bravely to Maia - it was a great show of her unquestioning trust in the older girl, Sirius thought. Maia started massaging the little girl's hand between hers, kneading with her thumbs, ignoring the girl's squirms and discomfort, until Opal sighed softly, and relaxed in her chair, and her eyes went heavy-lidded as Maia continued to massage her from fingertips to elbow, her skin slowly returning to its normal pallor, her fingers unfurling, healthy-looking - tipped with glittering nail-polish. Maia finally picked up a tiny crystal phial, held it to the puncture-wound on Opal's finger, delicately squeezing, and collected the large, spiky-looking spores that had poisoned her. She capped the phial and neatly labelled it; as Maia scooped up the last of the lotion into another little jar, Opal frowned and peered closer at the spores.

"No touching anything in the house, Opal, until we tell you it's safe to," Maia warned her.

"Alright," Opal sighed, glancing at her hand, which still shimmered from the residue of Maia's balm.

"You can wash your hands now. With _soap_ , Opal," Maia said, and Opal smiled brightly and said, "Thanks, Kreacher!" when he slid a footstool beneath the sink so she could reach the tap. Opal smiled, did as she was told, humming contentedly to herself in the sunshine streaming through the window, lifting her tiny nose to scent the herbs potted on the sill, then gathered Loki the mouse back into her hands, before trying to edge her way onto a chair at the kitchen-table, leaving Maia shaking her head as if wondering why she had bothered.

"Maia - what have you done to your hand?" Remus asked suddenly. Sirius initially thought Moony meant her left hand, her thumb and forefinger marked with delicate henna tattooing; but, no, Sirius saw quickly that a phosphorescent glow came, not from the lotion as he had thought, but from _her_. Her right hand was _scaled_ , and glowed iridescently. One of her fingers was black with bruising beneath the shimmering light, another was wrapped in a plaster, which she changed deftly, revealing a semi-healed puncture wound.

"It's not contagious," Maia reassured them, gazing at her hand as if seeing it for the first time, and only remotely interested. She slipped her rings back onto her fingers. One featured a tiny lifelike lizard; another, a Native American-style thunderbird, and a third held a large, round misty aqua stone. "It was all the way up to my neck in January; as long as I don't aggravate it, I should have it cleared up by October."

"What happened?" Sirius asked, unsure whether to be concerned or amused.

"I miscalculated," was all she offered, and Rigel grinned over his shoulder. "It doesn't bother me; I rather like it."

"And it changes colour with her _mood_ ," Opal beamed, giggling; Maia scooped her up and lifted her into a chair beside hers.

"Tell me you've not been using the house-elves to conduct your experiments," Remus said, frowning at Maia.

"Uncle _Remus_! How dare you insinuate such a thing?!" Rigel gasped, looking horrified, as he helped levitate more plates and bowls on the table, dishes Sirius had never seen before, as fragrant as they were vibrant.

"House-elf physiology is _entirely_ different from human!" Maia said, giving Remus a reproving look. "On an unrelated note, they're _spry_."

* * *

 **A.N.** : I hope you still like her! And the addition of her little brother and adopted sister! Because I _couldn't_ write out Opal.


	11. Fair Warning

**A.N.** : Another update for you all!

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Fair Warning_

* * *

"If we want to reach King's Cross in time, we should probably head off now," Remus said, checking his old pocket-watch, and Sirius was not alone in gazing yearningly at the platters and tureens of food still assembling on the table. They knew Dumbledore was on his way to perform the Fidelius Charm, protecting the location of the property as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix; they had agreed amongst themselves to meet at King's Cross - and have a little talk with Harry's family.

As he needed to retain his disguise, there were too many children for Remus to Side-Along Apparate with: Sirius transformed into a dog, and they set off on foot toward King's Cross station. He kept pace with Remus, watching Maia and Rigel, who walked ahead with Opal between them, holding their hands, and letting them lift her and swing her occasionally. They navigated the busy streets easily, used the Muggle crossings as if they were second-nature, and barely got a second-glance in spite of Maia's glowing hand; any double-takes were because of the teenagers' good looks, and their laughter as they chatted amongst themselves.

Just by the way they spoke to each other, Sirius could tell they were more than just siblings; they were _friends_. Remus had told him, last year, that Ellaria had raised them to think of each other as friends, first, then family. It was lovely to _see_ it, though.

By the time they reached the station, Maia had removed her leather jacket, and Rigel was complaining about sweating in all the wrong places because he was wearing jeans - the sun had appeared a couple of weeks ago, and Muggle and Wizard newspapers alike were threatening the hottest summer for decades. They had paused only long enough for Maia to take a pot out of her tiny, Extended handbag and slather lotion all over Opal and her brother, before herself, offering it to Remus, protecting them from the sunlight: it smelled delicately like honey, saltwater, ice-cream and sun-warmed grass - evoking memories of holidays at the beach and summer picnics with the Potters.

King's Cross, always a busy station, and having recently undergone extensive Muggle refurbishments, was heaving with people. The fact that most of them seemed out of the ordinary did not bother the Muggles who, in this day in age, and in this city, were used to absurd fashion trends and unusual appearances, and anyway, barely glanced up from the glowing tablets in their hands to offer their tickets to a machine admitting them to the Underground, let alone gawp at a small family with a birdcage on top of a trolley laden with trunks, or the loudly-laughing cluster of girls appearing out of nowhere, who had obviously taken the barrier at a run, and had spent their train-journey magically altering their appearances so one sported a vibrant fuchsia faux-hawk, and another, a multihued mane somewhat resembling tutti-frutti ice-cream.

Gradually, in pairs and trios, Hogwarts students trickled through the barrier from Platform 9 ¾ with their trunks, cat-baskets and birdcages, greeting Muggle family members, the station gradually emptying, though an onslaught from the Muggle train-service from Edinburgh arrived, everyone dashing for the Tube. Sirius sat patiently, watching, and he thought he saw a young girl who resembled Hermione somewhat, standing with a pretty woman with Hermione's natural curls and her husband, who exuded warmth, his enormous smile glowing from his dark face, and chuckled richly as he played with his daughter.

Beyond them, looking thoroughly irritable and muttering darkly about the lack of seating, the uncomfortable heat and the dangerous excess of foreigners, were Harry's uncle and aunt, and their son, who resembled a small walrus and was steadily eating shrivelled-looking burgers from a brown paper bag, and complaining they weren't big enough, his milkshake tasted odd and they haven't given him enough chips.

It was the red hair and dreadlocks that caught his attention, and he watched Ellaria materialise from Platform 9 ¾ quietly talking with an anxious, pale-faced Mrs Weasley. They were followed by and an onslaught of Weasleys, the twins rambunctious in their enthusiasm for the start of the summer holidays. Ron and Hermione followed, with Ginny panting as she caught up, materialising through the barrier alone; finally, Harry appeared, with the young Auror from the night of the Third Task - Tonks - whose hair, today, was amethyst-purple and curled beautifully to her shoulders. She was dressed casually, and could have been anyone's big-sister fresh from a punk gig; she laughed softly at something asked her by Harry, who gazed at her eagerly; she shook her head at him, shrugging apologetically, and guided him over to the rest of the Weasleys. Mad-Eye Moody - the real one - brought up the rear, a bowler-hat pulled low over his magical eye, and accompanied by Madam Bones in a tailored Muggle suit.

With a shout of delight, the little girl playing with her father ran for the group, tripped, and collided with Hermione's legs, squeezing her ankles hard. The twins laughed, hauling the girl to her feet. She beamed up at Hermione, her body thrumming with excitement; Hermione looped an arm around the shoulders of the girl who was undeniably her sister, as their parents approached, each getting a warm hug out of their daughter. Even over the din, he heard a cat hissing in the basket on top of Hermione's trunk, and he stalked closer, to poke his nose at the basket, chuffing gently. Crookshanks' squashed face appeared, and his hisses turned into deep purrs.

For a good few minutes, there was a general din as the Weasleys called loud goodbyes to school-friends just exiting the platform; Rigel introduced himself to the twins, whom he had heard of from cousins who attended Hogwarts; Mrs Granger talked seriously with Mrs Weasley; Remus chatted with Hermione's father; Ginny was talking animatedly to young Ursula Granger, who sat on Harry's trunk, staring avidly as Ginny told her about the Triwizard Tournament; Mad-Eye berated Fred Weasley for improper wand concealment as a small box of No-Heat, Wet-Start fireworks, which had eluded the end-of-term party earlier in the week, were accidentally set off, to the consternation of passing Muggles and the yellow-vested security guards, and Crookshanks took off, his fur on end, hissing and spitting at the fireworks; he had been aided and abetted out of his basket by Opal, who stood wincing guiltily as Ron tripped over Ginny's trolley to chase after the cat, who streaked past George, between Mrs Weasley's legs, darted out of range of Mad-Eye's staff, but skidded to a halt, lifting his nose, tail flicking warily, as Maia squatted down in front of him, murmuring to him. She held out her knuckles for him to scent, and he purred loudly, allowing her to tenderly stroke his ears. Gathering him up like a baby, Crookshanks purred deeply in Maia's arms as she brought him over to Hermione.

She gave Opal a gentle, authoritative look.

"I'm sorry," the little girl apologised to Hermione, who stowed a reluctant Crookshanks back in his basket.

"We all here?" Mad-Eye grunted. "Shall we get on with it?"

"Yes, I think so," Lupin said, glancing past Mrs Weasley at the Dursleys, who looked positively mortified that such an unusual group of people who were blatantly _other_ had assembled so nearby.

"Harry," Ellaria called gently, gesturing for him, and Rigel grinned as he commandeered Harry's trolley from him, laden with his trunk and Hedwig's cage, Opal perched on the end, beaming as they whizzed towards the Dursleys, as if Rigel was aiming for them like a game of ten-pins. Ellaria led the way, hands on Harry's shoulders as they paused to allow a large group of Chinese tourists past, and stopped short of Mr and Mrs Dursley, who looked horrified that Harry was part of such a group. Most of them had trailed after Ellaria and Harry. Sirius padded up to Ellaria's side, sitting beside Harry like a sentinel.

"Good afternoon," said Ellaria politely, as Mad-Eye stumped behind, and Tonks grinned and started teasing Opal, causing a ruckus when she accidentally dislodged Hedwig's cage, which was luckily caught by Remus before bird and cage could be harmed. "You will not know me; we have never met. I am Ellaria Scamander, Mrs Dursley, your sister and I fought together during the War. She and James named me Harry's godmother when he was born."

Perhaps it was her dreadlocks; or her effortlessly cool clothing; or her mismatched eyes and scars; or her _blackness_ \- but the Dursleys looked morbidly offended that she was speaking to them, in exceedingly polite accents of a highly-educated upper-class Englishwoman.

"You will perhaps be aware, Mrs Dursley, of the practical reasons why I was not a greater presence in Harry's younger life…" She trailed off, and the politeness belied a growing anger that seemed to make the air around them crackle. "However, I am very pleased that certain circumstances have allowed me to return to Harry's life. You may remember my husband's escape from the Wizard prison Azkaban, two summers ago? The Muggle news ran reports on him for months. Sirius Black. I understand you are aware that he is Harry's godfather."

Mr Dursley spluttered; Mrs Dursley glanced over her shoulder, as if anxious one of her friends might witness her in such company.

"These are our children, Maia and Raja, and this is Opal," Ellaria said gently, still in the same benign, polite tone that _dared_ the Dursleys to raise their voices to her. Internally, Sirius smirked; Ell was always at her most dangerous when she was at her most polite. It used to infuriate him that she could keep her head in an argument. Rigel, perched precariously on the wheels of the trolley, grinned and smirked as he saluted the Dursleys mockingly; Opal dimpled from Tonks' back, where she had climbed for a piggy-back ride - Tonks' hair seemed to offend Mrs Dursley more than anything else - and, exchanging the tiniest of looks with her mother, Maia raised her scaled and glowing hand to wave with all the elegance of an empress.

The Muggles' eyes bulged at the sight of her hand; and Maia's delicate smile told them all that she was enjoying the Dursleys' reaction to her short hemline, to the colourful and elaborate _Zouwu_ tattoo on her right upper-arm, to her dark skin and nose-ring and intricate braids and multiple earrings and generally being the walking, talking, wand-wielding stuff of the offensively-conservative Muggles' worst nightmares.

"I am delighted that the children can finally meet. It is about time they get to know one another. Maia and Raja will be popping in to Little Whinging off and on throughout the summer…" Something changed in Ellaria then, the crackling atmosphere seemed to intensify, though she stood, elegant and lethal and polite, smiling gently at the Muggles. "My children are wonderfully intuitive…should they have the tiniest apprehension of mistreatment or neglect -"

"And believe me, we will hear of it," Remus said gently.

"- you'll have _us_ to deal with," Moody said.

"Are you threatening me?" Mr Dursley said, loudly enough for passers-by to hear.

"Yes, we are," said Moody, who seemed delighted Mr Dursley had caught on so quickly. Grinning, the scarred Auror pushed his bowler-hat back on his head, revealing his sinister magical-eye as he leered, enjoying the effect on Mr Dursley, who stepped back hastily, goggling.

"And I assure you, we are more difficult to intimidate than your average nine-year-old boy," Ellaria said coldly, holding Mr Dursley's eye, until the enormous man shuddered and looked away, muttering. Mrs Dursley looked flustered and a little embarrassed, but not nearly as much as she should be. "Now…I'd like a moment with Harry, if you don't mind… Maia, Raja…" She beckoned her children, who strode idly past the Dursleys, smirking and antagonising them with their obvious _otherness_ , Rigel grabbing the brown paper bag in Dudley's hand to sniff inside, crinkle his nose in disgust and thrust it back, and Sirius panted as he kept pace with Ellaria, who had steered Harry a few paces away.

"Harry… I'm only going to ask once, because you've proven you can handle yourself, but please…take care of yourself," Ellaria said quietly, keeping eye-contact with Harry. "I don't want to sound like a paranoid Auror, but, with all things considered, I want you to treat every situation with a healthy amount of scepticism. And please don't stay out after dark. Madam Bones has arranged for protection for you and your family in Little Whinging, but you are still incredibly vulnerable. It would not be beneath the Death Eaters to reuse Crouch's ploy and impersonate someone to get to you. So when Maia and Raja arrive via the Knight Bus, I want you to be sure of their true identities before you step foot outside your aunt's house."

"Er - how -?"

Ellaria turned to Maia, who reached inside her tiny handbag, and handed something to Harry, a small palm-sized parcel wrapped in paper with Hungarian Horntail dragons inked over enormous embossed Snitches that shimmered in the light.

Rigel grinned, stepped up to Harry, already taller, and startled the older boy when he shoved his hand through Harry's fringe, pushing his hair away from his face.

" _Wow_ …it really is _gruesome_!" Rigel said, staring avidly at the raised, pinkish, angry-looking lightning bolt speared across Harry's forehead. Rigel grinned easily. "Is that why you haven't had a decent haircut in years?" Sirius barked softly, amused.

"Leave him alone, Raja," Maia said quietly, rolling her eyes.

"He is right, you do need a haircut," Ellaria observed, as Rigel handed Harry another parcel. "And some new glasses. And clothes that actually fit… We'll sort you out when you come to us… When Maia and Raja visit, you'll ask them what they gave you the first time you met." Harry nodded, visibly embarrassed by the unexpected gifts. "Early birthday presents. And Harry - if anyone but Maia or Raja shows up, anyone from the Ministry, or a newspaper, even Ron and Hermione, _anyone_ unexpected, shut the door, and telephone Arabella Figg. Your aunt will have her number."

"Mrs _Figg_?!" Harry gaped.

Ellaria chuckled softly. "Yes, Harry. Arabella. And if you stop by her house tomorrow, she's made a chocolate cake. She'll explain Madam Bones' precautions. And she absolutely promises not to inflict more photograph albums of her dead cats on you. Though Mr Tibbs is looking worse-for-wear."

"Oh, no," Harry groaned miserably, making Ellaria chuckle softly.

"Come on…oh, look - it looks like Amelia's niece and nephews are off the train," Ellaria said lightly, as they walked back toward the Dursleys. A very pretty girl with blue eyes and a glossy braid down her back was beaming as she hugged Madam Bones; two boys were talking over each other so enthusiastically, Madam Bones chuckled, beaming indulgently at them.

"God, they look like Edgar," gasped Ellaria under her breath, looking at the boys. For a second, she looked fraught. Beside Madam Bones, an older wizard who shared her jaw stood, talking quietly and urgently with Mad-Eye and Remus, who now had Opal swinging from one arm as he held Crookshanks' cage in the other. Tonks was chatting enthusiastically with the twins, who were creased up laughing, tears in their eyes; and Mrs Granger had to separate her reluctant younger daughter from Ginny, who waved, grinning, as the Grangers turned Hermione's trolley toward the exit.

"Well…it's not for long," Hermione said dubiously, glancing at the Dursleys. "Mum's bought me a stamp book, so I'll write by Muggle post as often as I can - but, week after next, I'll be heading to Bulgaria, Mum and Dad have agreed with Mrs Weasley…"

"You're going, then," Harry grinned.

"Well…it will be fascinating," Hermione said, blushing, as Ron snorted.

"Krum was nice," Harry said. "He talked about his cousins when he was in the Hospital Wing. Reckon he wants them to come to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang."

"Yes, he mentioned that to me, as well," Hermione said. "Well…goodbye, Harry. Be safe."

"And you - travel safe," Harry said, smiling. "Will you owl me when you get to Bulgaria? I expect a detailed report, you know, no fewer than two scrolls."

"You'll regret saying that," Hermione smiled. She did something she never had before, and kissed his cheek, before giving hugs all around, and catching up to her family, looping her arm through her father's, as Ursula wrangled the trolley.

"We'll come and get you as soon as we can," Mrs Weasley promised urgently, pulling Harry into a fierce hug. "You look after yourself, Harry."

"Enjoy the dragon sanctuary. Just try and look at them the way Hagrid does - they're quite cute, really…once you get past the horns," Harry said, and Mrs Weasley chuckled fondly.

"Well…Charlie's decided to devote his life to them, I may as well see what he's so enthusiastic about, even if it's only the once," Mrs Weasley said. She held his face in her hands for a moment, gave him a wistful smile, and nodded, allowing her husband to shake his hand.

"Listen, Harry," George said quietly, when Fred had finished trying to break every bone in his body in a full-body hug. Harry staggered off to the side, massaging his ribs. George looked sincere and abashed for the first time in his life. " _Thanks_."

"Just get inventing," Harry grinned. The twins exchanged a grin that seemed to barely leash their excitement, eyes dancing, brimming with mischief and possibility. They could do it, they could pursue their life's ambition to open their own joke-shop.

"Not long, and we'll see you again," Ron said anxiously.

"Count on it," Harry said, nodding, and they shook hands.

Moody gripped his shoulder; Remus winked subtly and gave him a huge hug; and Tonks, the Auror, told Harry in an undertone when she briefly hugged him that, "You're brilliant, Harry. Keep your wand on you, alright."

"I will," Harry nodded.

"Not in your back-pocket, boy," Moody growled, scowling at Harry, who got the sense Moody's magical eye was looking right through him, to his jeans pocket. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks."

"Who do you know who's lost a buttock?" Tonks asked curiously, glancing down behind Mad-Eye, pulling a thoughtful face. "Well - Harry, here… Alright, got your owl? Your trunk? Both buttocks still attached? Off you go…"

Anyone he hadn't hugged or shaken hands with grinned and waved as Harry wheeled his trunk toward the Dursleys, who stood mortified but begrudging, waiting for him. Ellaria's and Mad-Eye's threats still echoing in his mind, he grinned and waved at Susan Bones, who was walking out of the station with her parents and Madam Bones and caught his attention, smiling at him. Sirius panted as he kept pace with the trolley, until they reached the car-park and Uncle Vernon's large, boxy car - a shining new 4x4 that was very expensive and which Harry would be privileged to be allowed to ride in on the way back to Privet Drive.

As Uncle Vernon drove off, muttering darkly about the _weirdos_ threatening him and his family, Harry stared back out of the window, where the enormous grey-eyed black dog had transformed into a man, flanked by Remus and by Ellaria, watching them drive away. Sirius, looking very solemn, raised a hand in farewell, and Harry, grinning, waved back.

* * *

"He'll be alright," Remus said quietly.

"We'll get him out as soon as we can," Ellaria murmured comfortingly.

"As soon as the place is fit to live in," Sirius sighed. Returning inside, the Weasleys had left, as had Mad-Eye: Tonks remained, chatting animatedly with Rigel.

Tonks glanced over, and said, "Molly was anxious about being in the open. Arthur says he'll stop by later, after everyone's settled at the Burrow. Mad-Eye's gone ahead. Amelia just wants a cup of tea with her niece and nephews before she joins us. Says she'll eat with us."

"Are you staying for dinner, too?"

"I've never got the hang of household spells," Tonks said, grinning easily. "But I can only stand so much cheese on toast, and every time I go over to Mum's she asks when I'm going to start dressing business-appropriately." She rolled her eyes, and Sirius barked a laugh.

"I could tell you stories about your mum that would make your hair turn white," Sirius said, grinning.

"Please do! I've been waiting my whole life for leverage! You've no idea how curious she is about you," Tonks told him, grinning. "When I told her you were innocent…"

"We should go," Remus said quietly, glancing at his pocket-watch. "Dumbledore should have finished by now, he will be expecting us."

There were enough adults, this time: Ellaria took Rigel's hand, Remus took Opal's, and Tonks beamed as she offered Maia hers. Sirius held Crookshanks' basket, and together they Disapparated, reappearing in Grimmauld Place. Though still bright, and hot, the sun had sunk behind a row of townhouses, casting shadows across the street - helped perhaps by Dumbledore, who wore inky midnight robes that glittered softly with silver, waiting, humming placidly as he sat on a bench by the edge of the dry lawn in the centre of the square, looking thoroughly out of place.

Sirius glanced over at the house - his eyes slid from Number 11 to Number 13.

Crookshanks was hissing in his basket; he didn't appreciate Apparating, which was fair. The sound drew Dumbledore's attention, and the ancient wizard rose with an elegance that seemed out of place with his age.

"Good evening," he said, approaching them. Opal was wincing, her fingers stuck in her ears; and Rigel looked nauseated.

"I never get used to it," he moaned, hands on his knees. His mother rolled her eyes behind him, amused, as Maia helped Tonks out of a bush she had stumbled into.

"Dumbledore," Sirius nodded.

"How was King's Cross?"

"Busy," Remus said. "We sent Harry off with the Dursleys, with no issues."

"And I've told Harry to go and see Arabella," Ellaria mentioned.

"Excellent," Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Oh…you will all find the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place." Sirius glanced around, and the silver ouroborous knocker appeared in the centre of a peeling black door. The rest of the house materialised out of nowhere, seemingly pushing the two houses either side out of its way.

Once before, Sirius had seen a home materialise out of nowhere like that… He swallowed, and sighed softly to himself, as Ellaria brushed against him, her fingers finding his, squeezing gently.

They were not the first to arrive: The kitchen was full of witches and wizards from all walks of life, many more than had ever been part of the Order the first time around. There were many new faces, like Florean Fortescue and Madam Rosmerta, who had been brought in only in the last year by Dumbledore himself; but there were familiar faces, too, like Elphias, who greeted Sirius warmly, like a beloved great-uncle who might slip him a bottle of port if he was feeling benevolent. There was Sturgis, and a pile of rags turned out to be, not more washing carried downstairs by Dashy, but Mundungus Fletcher. There were a couple of teenagers Sirius recognised from Hogwarts, from his time tailing Harry; Viktor Krum was talking quietly to a very wan Mrs Diggory; half the Hogwarts teaching staff had gathered, though not Hagrid; and, Sirius glanced sharply at her, wishing she had given him a fair warning, Ellaria's surviving family.

 _All_ of them. Her effortlessly cool brother Perseus, her sister Melanthe, who was the height of elegance in a tailored set of robes, perfectly made up as Sirius always remembered her; their partners were with them, and their grandfather, Theseus Scamander, who looked intimidating, no-nonsense and tyrannical, battle-scarred, grumpy in old-age, but was one of the most brilliant minds of the age, and had a heart of the purest gold.

Theseus approached him, rested his hands on Sirius' shoulders to look sadly into his face, and pulled him into a firm embrace.

"Still a hugger?" Sirius mumbled, clearing his throat.

"You've been missed, Sirius," was all Theseus said, and he cupped Sirius' face before pouring him a glass of wine from the decanter on the table, handing it to him. Sirius glanced across the room, where a horde of children and teenagers had increased the volume in the room by decibels.

They were all Scamanders, he thought; children, and young-adults, teenagers. In the faces of some, Sirius thought he recognised children he had long ago babysat - the daughters of Perseus and Benjen's orphaned sons - but there were a few others he didn't know, younger ones. They cheered when Maia and Rigel appeared with Opal, rushing out of their seats, to hug each other viciously and prance about in a kind of war-dance, swarming around their cousins like bees drawn to wildflowers, and Sirius for the first time saw Maia transform, relaxed, unguarded, brimming with confidence and enthusiasm as her cousins vied for her attention with stories and magazines, and Rigel was in his element, laughing loudly and teasing his younger cousins, who were trying to steal from the table, which was groaning with food.

A succulent roast chicken set itself, nestled among the crispiest-looking roast-potatoes, between three bowls of vibrant salads - one corn, one couscous and one cold pasta - and a tiered cake-stand filled with fresh peaches, tiny pinkish-orange pastry parcels, halved pomegranates, sticky balls of stem ginger and pink petit-fours topped with a single raspberry. He noticed a lamb hotpot sat beside a spicy prawn curry; and a decadently savoury dish of fresh egg pasta with a rich meat sauce steamed next to a tiny silver bowl of unusual liquorice pieces; garlicky creamed Brussels sprouts with breadcrumbs and parmesan hissed beside a salad of fennel, red onion, fresh red chillies, radish, pomegranate arils, coriander, feta cheese crumbles and tiny strips of tortilla chips; a tower of Viennese whirls sat beside a beef and barley stew.

"I think," said Dumbledore quietly, and the room groaning with people fell silent, "we are at full-capacity. Before our first meeting gets underway, let us not deprive ourselves of the excellent cooking of Patmore and Roux." He turned and gave the two house-elves at the range a formal bow; they gaped, and beamed, shiny-faced and overwhelmed, curtsying.

"Finishing touches, if you please, Miss Maia," said Patmore, as she set down the last steaming platter of pork-loin medallions cooked in creamy mushroom sauce. They all climbed into seats at the magically-extended table, even the house-elves, who nodded and smiled at the witches and wizards who sat beside them.

"If you'd like," said Maia, surveying the table; she flicked her wand delicately. Snodgrass sighed wistfully as several small, painted vases overflowing with pure white ornamental flowers appeared, nestling themselves on the table with tea-light candles in crystal holders. The rest of the room seemed to darken cosily, a delicate breeze sighed from nowhere in particular, cooling them down as they sat sweating at the table, and out of her handbag, Maia produced the smallest wireless Sirius had ever seen, sleek, with softly curved edges and silver finishes. She pressed a button, turned a dial, and Solomon Burke started playing, according to the _Radio Rock_ disc-jockey.

As ever, Sirius listened out of the corner of his ear to the different _Radio Rock_ presenters and their distinctive programmes, his stomach hurting as memories flooded over him.

"This all looks excellent," said Remus, as Dumbledore threw his long silver beard over his shoulder, so as not to get any food in it.

"I've never seen some of these dishes," Sirius confessed, peering along the table at the vibrant, spiced dishes.

Somehow Sirius found himself sat beside Opal; Maia, sat on her other side, had conjured a tall chair with a small seat, perfectly sized to her. Her legs swung freely as she politely asked for a spoonful of this and that, and Sirius learned through her what the dishes were, and sometimes, where she and her family had tried them, which were Rigel's and Maia's favourites, and which dish Mummy loved.

He learned that Opal had been adopted by Ellaria when she was three years old.

Her hand glowing softly, Maia helped cut up Opal's food where it was needed, and Sirius kept an ear on her conversation with her cousins as they asked eagerly about "a _reading_ \- we haven't had one in ages, I've got so many articles for _The Talon_!" "Have you invented anything new? We _need_ to do a wash-day, I've got new styles to try out!" - while also trying to listen in on Rigel's conversation with Viktor Krum, about the Durmstrang ship and a Bulgarian sweet-shop and the Muggle musicians being played on the wireless.

It was one of the most memorable and unusual meals of his life - and not just because it was the first time in nearly fourteen years that he had sat at any kind of meal with anyone, let alone a small feast. Listening to Muggle musicians, sampling unusual foreign dishes, sharing them with over a half-dozen house-elves, and sat eating, not only with his wife, one of his two best-friends, and some of the most exceptional witches and wizards of the age, but with his estranged children for the first time since their infancy.

When the meal had finished, it was Maia and Rigel who stood up first, without being asked, flicking their wands, so that the dishes started to levitate either to the sink, where soap-suds suddenly appeared, or to the pantry and chilly larder, where the leftovers were properly stored. Everything worked seamlessly, pots and pans and crockery putting themselves away on shelves or inside the butler's pantry cabinets. Sirius was struck by the ease with which the two siblings performed Nonverbal magic, Rigel already far more advanced than Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were all older.

The only things left on the tables were the candles, the flowers, and the jugs of juice and cordial; as teapots and coffee-pots nestled themselves along the table with antique porcelain tea-services, the atmosphere in the room changed.

"Alright…shall we rouse the rabble? Where are my great-grandchildren? Off with you," said Theseus Scamander brusquely, but his lips twitched, giving him away. All but the eldest of his great-grandchildren sprang up from their chairs, grinning and stifling laughter, thrilled to be excused from adult company so the real fun could start. They each kissed Theseus on their way past him; he was adored.

"Mother…" said Maia, lingering by Ellaria's side. Ellaria gave her daughter a shrewd look, as Maia held out her palm with a commanding look. "The cosmos."

"They worked beautifully."

Maia clicked her tongue. "You have _so_ much to learn. Things can always be improved!" Ellaria grinned, digging inside the pocket of her jacket. She revealed the plain wooden box Sirius recognised as the ones housing the glowing marbles that had recorded Crouch's testimony. She handed it over to Maia, shaking her head fondly. "And the bracelet."

"It - "

" _The bracelet_ ," Maia said firmly, arching an eyebrow, and her mother relented, removing a beaded bracelet from her wrist, handing it over.

"You won't get anything off that, I haven't been in any decent confrontations," Ellaria told her.

"I know that; I'm going to give it to Antiope."

"Why?"

"She and Leticia will be trying to murder each other by the end of the week. And Leticia has quicker reflexes," Maia said plainly, and her mother pulled a face, agreeing, as Maia's cousin Antiope gasped, offended, her strong jaw dropping.

"That is just _rude_ ," Antiope told her, as Leticia snickered. If Maia and Rigel were a surprise, Antiope was a shock; two months younger than Rigel, she had been a tiny thing the last time Sirius saw her. Now she was tall and slender as a sapling, her hair braided and coiled on top of her head, and she shot her cousin the middle-finger as Maia made her way unprotestingly to the stairs. Antiope and her older sister Leticia argued with their mother about staying for the meeting.

"You've not left school; you are _not_ joining the Order," Okoye told them sternly, in her richly-accented voice, giving them the same kind of quelling look Sirius remembered so vividly; she used to use it to intimidate her opponents on family games-night. No-one dared bluff her during cards. Okoye had changed, too; she had shaved her head completely and no longer wore the gold choker-necklace she used to, instead donning matching wrist-guards of enchanted metal and a delicate gold ear-cuff that glinted against her velvety ebony skin. "Go! Help Maia."

"Help her with _what_?"

"I don't know - target practice. You might learn how to throw up a Shield Charm," Okoye said firmly, and her daughters growled and cast dark looks at Perseus, their father, who oozed cool and laidback charisma and merely gestured them toward the stairs with a tilt of his chin.

The girls exchanged one dark look, sighed heavily, and reluctantly trudged upstairs, muttering darkly amongst themselves; Sirius thought he heard the name Siobhan, and saw their eldest sister sat at the table, looking slightly smug. " _So_ uncool -"

"Just wait until they find out Imposter Mad-Eye put the Imperius Curse on us during lessons - _then they'll be sorry_!" Perseus and Okoye started in their seats, glanced toward the stairs, then Dumbledore, their jaws dropping.

" _Torin_ , come on," Opal beamed, tugging on the arm of one of the young-men who still sat at the table, leaning back on two legs in his chair, smiling as Opal tugged at his arm. Tall as an oak tree, he had arms like pythons, a brilliant white smile beaming from his dark face, bearded, intimidating and handsome, Sirius gaped at his unrecognisable nephew.

"'Fraid I have to stay with the _boring_ grown-ups," he sighed, aggrieved. "Promise not to have any fun without me?" From the sound of the kids trampling their way upstairs, a party seemed likely.

Opal grinned mischievously. "I promise."

Torin narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Torin; you're my poppet!" Opal said earnestly, her eyes glittering. Torin narrowed his eyes, nuzzling his nose against hers; she giggled shrilly when he grabbed her unexpectedly, wrapping his arms around her, and blew loud raspberries all over her face and neck. She squealed and thrashed as the raspberries tickled her skin.

"Ugh!" Opal shivered and wiped her face on her skirt when Torin released her into Maia's custody.

"I don't like _kissing_ ," Opal confided to Maia, making the adults around them laugh, especially Torin. Torin, whom Sirius gaped at, before turning to Ellaria with a _What the…?_ expression, Torin whom they had babysat, taught to fly; tiny, skinny, shy Torin who loved cuddles and at twelve was understandably afraid of the monster under his bed, given how his parents had died.

Torin beamed when Opal turned at the foot of the stairs, sighed, "Bye, Tory."

"Bye, Opie," he cooed back wistfully, waving, and making several of the women sat around him swoon, eyeing him up like a rack of ribs.

"Upstairs to the drawing-room with the lot of you," croaked Kreacher, who chided the kids out of the room, and took Opal's hand as she approached the stairs and started to climb.

"You're her _poppet_ ," Sirius smirked at Torin.

"Hello, Uncle Sirius," said Torin, grinning.

"Did Theseus overdose you on Skelegrow?"

And those python-like arms tried to crush every bone in Sirius' body as his nephew grabbed him in a hug that made him stagger back, clutching his ribs: Torin had always been his favourite. His _nephew_ , through Ellaria. There had been Rydstrom, Torin, Siobhan and Leticia by the time Maia was born, he remembered. And more had come after, apparently. Rydstrom and Talon had already been orphaned by the time Maia was born, Rydstrom an angry fifteen and Torin, twelve and traumatised into muteness; they had lived with their great-grandfather, Theseus, who had relied on his grandchildren to help him get through to their nephews when he couldn't. Sirius had encouraged the bond between Torin and Maia; his cuddles with the infant seemed to calm whatever internal battles Torin was fighting.

He was glad at least that now, Torin seemed to have healed. He was laidback and grinning, charismatic and confident. He had the love, respect and admiration of his younger cousins.

A _lot_ had changed since Sirius went to Azkaban.

He had missed…too much.

Kreacher had returned, and taken up a solemn vigil behind Ellaria, before Dumbledore began, closing and magically sealing the kitchen door.

"You might want to double-check, Dumbledore… Maia's had enough time to give even the silverware ears…"

* * *

 **A.N.** : So apparently Scamander, from ancient Greek _Skamandros_ , was a river god, and like the river, I like the idea that the family's fortunes ebbs and flows, for example, members of Theseus' family being killed during different wars, but many children being born to the survivors. The family gets smaller and bigger… I've created fourteen Scamander cousins, including Maia, Raja and Opal, of varying ages, though you'll only see glimpses of some, and mention of others.


	12. Progressive Chaos

**A.N.** : Another update for you all!

* * *

 **Eldest of the Pleiades**

 _Progressive Chaos_

* * *

The inaugural meeting of the Order of the Phoenix lasted hours. Sirius wasn't the only one with a headache; too much tea and coffee, the weather too hot and muggy even after sunset, too many tempers running high, too many people _afraid_ , reliving too many painful memories dredged up by the new faces peppered among the old ones, reforming the scarred and brutalised Order. Few stayed for the duration: As soon as they understood the lay of the land, and their tasks, witches and wizards excused themselves from the overcrowded kitchen and got to work.

More than a few arguments broke out, concerning the way forward.

The most immediate concerns were the safety of Harry Potter; and Madam Bones, who had painted a bulls-eye on herself when she led Magical Law Enforcement out of Ministry control, to deal with Lord Voldemort's return head-on.

She was a powerful enemy and Voldemort wouldn't ignore the threat she posed. She had already upset his plans by removing the most powerful arm of the Ministry from London and a malleable, cowardly Minister's control, and declaring themselves on the offensive against his return, no matter what bluster Fudge was feeding the _Prophet_ about 'warmongering'.

Scrimgeour confirmed that they were to set into motion plans to trap the disloyal, filtering false information through the grapevine to catch out informers. They would question anyone who had once been suspect. Thanks to the Wizengamot vote on Veritaserum, they could gather the information they needed legally.

The Auror Office was putting together evidence, tailing the Death Eaters Harry had named; they were going to strike, soon, but only after the Dark wizards thought they had gotten away with it.

"Let them sweat," Madam Bones said coldly. "And see how much they value their own skins over that of their master."

"What about _deals_ , this time?" Sirius asked, glowering. He knew half the people who would go over to Voldemort this time had wormed their way out of Azkaban when he fell, because they had sold information for their freedom. Karkaroff was one, but he wasn't the only one.

"The deal is this: they give us information, and they go to prison," Scrimgeour said. "At the very least."

Sirius' eyes narrowed, but it was Remus who asked quietly, "The very least?"

"Was it wise to allow the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange to live?" snapped Scrimgeour, who had become more and more irritated as the night wore on by Remus' quiet but very astute comments. "We saw what she was capable of and that was _before_ a decade in Azkaban… If she were to return as You-Know-Who's most trusted lieutenant… Surely the Unforgiveable Curses deserve a death-sentence."

"Would you have sentenced my husband to the veil, too, Rufus?" Ellaria said coolly, a frisson shivering up and down the table. Sirius looked at Ellaria…her _husband_. He hadn't been called that in a long time…

"Bellatrix Lestrange was convicted of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank and Alice -"

Ellaria bristled. " _I know what she did_. And she confessed with prideful arrogance _during her trial_. If he hadn't been thrown into Azkaban, you would have condemned Sirius to be executed without trial," Ellaria said, with cold passion in her voice, rage seething under the surface, glacial and detached. Unshakeable. "We cannot take it for granted that we know exactly what is going on, with anyone."

"You confuse the issue," Scrimgeour told her, narrowing his eyes, sneering disrespectfully at Ellaria.

"War _is_ confused, or perhaps you have forgotten the phenomenon. I have spent more time inside warzones than out of them the last decade, Rufus, while you've been working your way up _management_. We cannot permit the use of mortal curses against our enemies, when we have no idea whether they are cursed or whether they are acting under blackmail, or whether they're working both sides, working _for us_ ," Ellaria said.

"So we ask our enemies to politely lower their wands?" Scrimgeour said snidely.

"We do everything in our power to bring them in, so they can be questioned, and the truth uncovered. We _chose_ to become _Aurors_ ; if you cannot be bothered to take the time to pick apart every angle and every detail, and use your wands like clubs instead of tools to tease out the truth, you should have become a Beater," Ellaria said coldly. "I will not use lethal force except in the gravest circumstances. And I will not condone the death-sentence."

"On your head be it, then, when the Death Eaters torture our friends to insanity."

"On _their_ heads be it, Scrimgeour, _not mine_. I take no responsibility for the actions of others, only my own," Ellaria hissed, and under the table, Sirius lay a hand gently on her thigh.

"Frank didn't condone the use of the Unforgiveables," Sirius reminded the leonine Auror, who was growling under his breath, making his resemblance to a battle-scarred lion that much stronger. "He never did. Even when Crouch passed the order, he and Alice both refused. They wouldn't sink to the Death Eaters' level. They knew war is always more complicated than curse first and ask questions later - or worse, to realise the truth and regret it for the rest of their lives."

"The rest of their lives - you mean the lives they're spending in St Mungo's," Scrimgeour needled. "Insane, unrecognisable -"

"Don't," said Ellaria, very sharply. "I will not let you use them to get what you want. You dishonour everything they fought for. _We_ fought for."

A moment's silence crackled in the air, uncomfortable, charged; Madam Bones finally sighed. "It may yet be put to the Wizengamot for a vote. The idea of You-Know-Who out there is one thing; but his most brutal soldiers languishing in jail, ready to return to him… It may come down to the argument that the public would feel safer…without the possibility that the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange can ever target their children."

"So one life is sacrificed for the peace of mind for thousands of others? The Death Eaters would say the same thing - only those lives would be Muggle, or anyone who can't prove their blood-status," Sirius frowned. "That is a question that can _never_ be put to the public - we need to be _united_ now, more than ever. This would cause catastrophic damage without Bellatrix ever having to set foot outside Azkaban."

"I would suggest," Remus said quietly, and several people turned to him, listening; he hadn't spoken often during the course of the meeting, but when he had, it was a poignant observation, "that Barty Crouch Senior's amendments to Wizengamot law regarding the capture of Dark wizards be re-evaluated. We are no longer in peacetime, and people would sleep more soundly in their beds, knowing the Aurors who have taken on the responsibility of protecting them can use every weapon in their arsenal - even if it is the Auror's _personal choice_ whether or not to use them… Alastor has always held the respect of the public because he never sank to the Death Eaters' level, even when he had permission, was even encouraged to use lethal force."

"What about the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"I am certain Lord Voldemort never trusted anyone in his life," Remus said, glancing at Dumbledore, who sat sanguinely, nursing a glass of wine, observing everything from behind flashing half-moon spectacles. "But even he had to confide certain details in some of his best generals… I would imagine Bellatrix has a wealth of information to give us, reluctant though she may be. The Wizengamot ruling on the use of Veritaserum could do more to destabilise Lord Voldemort's return than anything else."

"And the death sentence?" Madam Bones asked, peering at Remus with something like appreciation mixed with respect.

Remus took a sip of wine, mulling his answer, before he flitted a glance at Sirius, holding his gaze, and said, "By our very natures, witches and wizards are equipped with the ways and means to manipulate truth and circumstances to our benefit. Fourteen years ago, had you asked me, I would have condemned my best-friend to death, based on everything I _thought_ I knew… And I would not have been able to live with myself, when the truth came out about his innocence… I do not wish to be asked to condemn another to death, when our legal system is, to its foundations, corrupted. Ellaria found the Lestranges and Crouch with their wands on Frank and Alice, their son crying in his cot - the evidence of what they did is irrefutable, as were their motives; their confessions were undeniable, and given without any coercion. Theirs was the rare case that was open and shut."

Sirius stared at his old friend, his hand tightening on Ellaria's thigh. He knew what had happened to Frank and Alice, of course, he had picked things up in Azkaban, knew why his cousin had been brought there with her husband and brother-in-law…but he hadn't known it was Ellaria who found Frank and Alice - her friends, her mentors. They had taken her under their wing, they had fought and laughed together. They had come to Sirius and Ellaria's wedding-breakfast…

"What about the werewolves, Remus?" asked Perseus, Ellaria's surviving brother. During dinner, Sirius had learned from Maia that 'Uncle Purr' worked high up in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - continuing the family obsession with magical creatures, and doing his utmost to alter and amend legislation to benefit the protection of magical creatures and their territories and sanctuaries across Britain.

Remus stared at Perseus across the table, distractedly tracing the stem of his wine-glass. "It all depends. It depends on what Voldemort offers them…and what wizards can be convinced to offer them instead… The Wolfsbane Potion may have changed a great many things… As it is, I am one of a handful of privileged werewolves in the British Isles with access to it. Even if I could afford the ingredients, I could not make the potion myself, it is…very complicated. I am very fortunate that I know someone who delights in the challenge."

"Maia adores you. You're her poppet," said Ellaria, smiling fondly at Remus, who gave a half-hearted smile.

"How could the werewolves be convinced _not_ to join Voldemort, as they did in the last War?"

"The older generations, you would have a difficult time of it, while Fenrir Greyback roams free, convincing other werewolves that it is their right to revenge themselves upon normal wizards who have turned their backs on them, deprived them basic rights, dignity…" Remus admitted. He sighed heavily. "During the War, Greyback targeted many young children, to punish or persuade their parents. From what Professor Dumbledore tells me, I am still the only werewolf to ever have attended Hogwarts."

"But there are child werewolves?" frowned Mrs Diggory.

"Many more than is usual, since the War. Greyback made a habit of positioning himself near his chosen targets at any full-moon; he wished to create enough werewolves to outnumber regular wizards…" Remus sighed. "Voldemort gave him what he craved… There are those children that did survive his attacks, who would now be school-aged…"

"Those children need to know they can live a normal life, with fulfilling relationships, that their dreams can be made reality if they're willing to put in the work," Sirius said, frowning. How could so little progress have been made in the last ten, peaceful years, to prevent such a catastrophic war ever happening again? Had they learned nothing? "Nothing should hold them back."

"There are laws, Padfoot; the Wizengamot has passed more laws in the last decade than the last century against part-humans," said Remus, very grimly. "It's Fudge's Senior Undersecretary; she's been forcing through legislation since he gave her the job. Frightened of us. And for good reason."

"Yes, but that was before Wolfsbane," Sirius frowned. "You said it allows you to keep your own mind during the full-moon." He had never known Remus under the influence of Wolfsbane Potion; it was their influence that had affected him while they were at school, his and James's.

"How effective is it?" Madam Bones asked.

"It does nothing to diminish the pain of a transformation, but I retain control of my own mind during the full-moon," Remus said, something flickering across his face. "It makes werewolves harmless, unless they make the choice not to be. And many of the older generation take Greyback's line; they would refuse the Wolfsbane Potion on principle… They believe it further denies them their nature, rather than seeing it as a way of improving their lives."

"When you were teaching at Hogwarts, how did you cope?" Madam Bones asked curiously.

"The Potions master provided me with the Wolfsbane Potion every month; during the full-moon, I locked myself in my office - ensuring no students could get in, of course," Remus said. "My lessons next-day were covered by another teacher, if I was too frail to do it myself."

"The transformation takes that much out of you?"

"Yes. Usually, when it is well-planned, and when the full-moon occurred over a weekend, it made no difference to my ability to teach. Winter, of course, with the longer nights, took its toll; when the full moon rises at noon in Scotland in November, I could not take lessons that day, or the next, with the delayed sunrise," Remus sighed heavily. "But the Wolfsbane…it ensured that I could not harm anyone, even if the older students had been very intent indeed on entering my study, getting past the securities I put in place."

"So it is possible, then, to manage your condition and maintain a normal life?" prompted Madam Bones.

"Not without work. And it is next to impossible for a werewolf to find paid work these days…"

"But if we could repeal the laws, and educate werewolves and wizards alike…?"

Remus gave a small smile. "You have some lofty aspirations, Madam Bones."

"Confronted with a bully on the playground, the wisest course of action is always to befriend him," said Madam Bones, very shrewdly.

"So far Umbridge hasn't touched on laws forbidding werewolves from attending Hogwarts," added Perseus, "but she hardly needs to, with the attitude of parents of werewolf children…"

"If you'd had Wolfsbane Potion when we were at school…" Sirius shook his head, sighing. "It wouldn't have mattered that I'd told Snape where to find you… Well…you wouldn't have hurt him, at least," he added, glancing at his old friend. The memory of the aftermath of James pulling Snape out of the Whomping Willow tunnel had played through his mind on a loop; it wasn't that Snape had almost died. It was that Remus had been _utterly_ , utterly betrayed that Sirius had used his worst fear against their classmate. Remus hadn't spoken to him for weeks…it was one of the handful of worst memories that played on repeat through his mind when the Dementors' influence got too strong…

"Do we know who…?" asked someone down the table.

"Who the afflicted children are?" Remus said heavily. "I have a few names; I imagine Professor Dumbledore may have more."

"I have had occasion to visit those parents who saw fit to withhold their children from Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "It is their right, of course; but one does like to be sure."

"Could they be persuaded, Dumbledore, to send their children to Hogwarts?"

"No parent wants to subject their children to the blatant prejudice that werewolves endure," intoned Remus. "And they would not want to risk that their child may be responsible for harming others."

"But to embrace them into our society, to do everything in our power to make it easier for them, to have normal, stable lives, to ensure they do not have to worry that they will hurt others…?" Perseus pressed.

"I'm not saying that it is impossible, I'm just warning you that it has never been attempted before," said Remus. "And werewolves like Fenrir Greyback will certainly do everything in their power to disrupt everything you attempt to do to benefit werewolves."

"How is it that Greyback still walks free?" Sirius scowled; he knew Greyback was the one who had bitten Remus. He still remembered the day Remus told them he had found out; he had been undercover for the Order, and learned the truth…

"No-one wants to get close enough to attempt to bring him in, Padfoot," Remus said quietly.

"And so children the length and breadth of Britain can be targeted by him?" Sirius scoffed, disbelieving.

"The way forward seems quite clear," Madam Bones said, glancing at Perseus, and for some reason, Mrs Diggory. "As many werewolf children as can be convinced should attend Hogwarts. The public will see that it is possible for their children to coexist with werewolf children happily, without incident, because of the Wolfsbane Potion, and _education_. Those children will grow up together; they will respect each other. The Wizengamot can move to repeal Umbridge's laws - they lay the foundation for all You-Know-Who's arguments to encourage werewolves and other disenfranchised part-humans and magical beings to join him. Even those who dread a werewolf attack fear You-Know-Who far more, and will do what they can to stop him."

The discussion went on; it went on for hours. Not just werewolf rights, Death Eater hunts, prison restructuring and educational reforms but _housing_ \- the Muggle housing market was such that now, it was nigh on impossible for most Muggles let alone wizards to climb onto the property ladder. Muggle homes were simply too dear; their population was aging but new homes were being built that were unsuitable except to those willing to take out extortionate part-ownership schemes and hefty mortgages. Unless they inherited, wizards were simply finding it too difficult to find places to _live_. There was now only one entirely non-Muggle establishment in Britain, and that was Hogsmeade, which could not support an influx of residents.

McGonagall informed them that over the last three years, the number of students admitted to Hogwarts per annum had grown exponentially; this was due to the defeat of Voldemort, but also of heightened mobility in the Muggle world, free movement across the European Union and the relationships within the Commonwealth of Nations.

The wizarding community needed to address the seriousness of a housing shortage, and the lack of protection all-magical communities once afforded them. This was perhaps, it was admitted during the meeting, a longer-term issue, but it did raise the question of whether the Statute of Secrecy could be upheld when they were being forced more and more into the Muggle world, when there was no structural support within the wizarding community to nurture and provide for an expanding community.

Gradually the discussion was brought back to the most immediate concerns: Harry; obtaining precious information from Voldemort's lieutenants; and utilising Dumbledore's invaluable insight to chart out what they believed would be Lord Voldemort's likeliest course of action.

Dumbledore had thoughts on the subject.

And, because they were immovable on the subject, he had confided a couple of them with Ellaria and Sirius.

It was Ellaria who had pointed out something very shrewd, and reminded Sirius that he had fallen in love with her throbbing intellect as much as her cool ferocity, her goodness and her beauty: Voldemort had taken Harry's blood. _Lily's_ blood. Her blood ran now not only in the veins of her still-living sister Petunia, but in Voldemort's, too.

Without even thinking about the consequences, Lord Voldemort had stolen his enemy's blood, and in doing so had reignited the protections Lily passed to her son.

Instead of weakening Harry, it had strengthened him. Instead of making Voldemort invulnerable to Harry, it had ensured that as long as he lived, Harry could not be touched.

The two wizards were bound not just by wand-cores and obscure prophecies Sirius wished he had never heard, but by Lily's blood.

Lily, who had defied him three times, once before she ever left Hogwarts, Lily, whom he had murdered, Lily, who protected her son from beyond death, was even now ensuring no harm would come to the son she had died to protect.

It was a heart-breaking irony that it was Lord Voldemort now keeping the protection of Lily's sacrifice alive.

But it also meant that after arrangements were made to remove him, Harry would never return to the abuse he endured at the hands of his mother's relatives.

Harry never mentioned it - had grown up with it being _normal_ , so why would he - but Sirius had observed a lot during the time he had skulked around Little Whingeing two summers ago; and Ron and Hermione had told him a good deal out of Harry's earshot, things they suspected even if Harry never mentioned them. They had told him things Harry had never mentioned in his letters either to him or to Moony. The bars on the windows; cold tinned food through a cat-flap in the door; they had made him sleep in a _cupboard_. He was bullied by his cousin; malnourished and neglected by his aunt; physically abused by his uncle.

It was truly extraordinary that Harry had not grown up an Obscurus.

As fiercely as they tried to stamp out his magic, Harry's magic had protected him against his relatives.

As soon as he could get Harry out, Sirius was going to make sure Harry learned what having a _family_ truly meant… They had become a family in spite of the war; and the war had destroyed their family. James, Lily, Moony, Sirius and Ellaria, the babies, they had chosen to be a family, after all they had suffered, all their losses, as they fought for their lives, and for the lives they wanted for their children.

The same war that had brought them together as few things could bind people so strongly had left them fractured and isolated, devastated.

It had left James and Lily murdered; Harry orphaned and scarred and abused. Frank and Alice, broken, their son growing up to watch them endure a fate worse than death, and understand exactly what had happened to them, far too young for any child to learn the harshest realities of the world. And Moony…next to the full-moon, he had dreaded the loss of his friends more than _anything_. He had been left _utterly_ alone - and because of what he thought Sirius had done, he couldn't even turn to Ellaria, who had been abandoned by almost everyone, forced to raise their children alone, because of her marriage to Sirius, the betrayer, the mass-murderer, Voldemort's right-hand man. The innocent man who had spent nearly twelve years in Azkaban blaming himself for someone else's cowardice.

Head pounding, the first time he had truly had to use it in years, Sirius gripped his skull and groaned as they let out the last stragglers; Remus flicked his wand, and the many locks and deadbolts slid into place. Additional security had been put in place by Dumbledore, beyond the Fidelius Charm - spells and enchantments and counter-curses that would protect the residents from even the most violent assault.

Grimmauld Place would be second only to Hogwarts in security, to anyone fortunate enough to seek sanctuary there, and be accepted.

It was a kinder way of saying that it was the perfect place for Sirius to _hide_.

"We should assemble the horde," Torin murmured, eyeing the dank ceiling, as if he shared Moody's magical eye and could see upstairs into the drawing-room above them.

"It's a bit late," Ellaria sighed, looking exhausted; she rubbed her face tiredly, her rings glinting. "We might as well let them camp out here."

"They'll be passed out by now, surely," Sirius frowned.

"Don't put money on that," said Torin, grinning, and they made their way upstairs, the house muffled and groaning as it settled in the cool of the night. Crookshanks appeared, and Sirius bit his lip at the vengeful expression on his face; someone had forced him into a baby-bonnet, and his fur shimmered and sparkled with glitter. There was also a splodge of bright-green goo that glinted with tiny nuggets of something dark that Sirius desperately wanted to touch but knew better. Crookshanks had a Doxy dangling from his mouth, and purred loudly, brushing up against Sirius' ankles, escorting him upstairs, stalking the corridor like a Big Cat hunting prey and reminding Sirius a lot of Mrs Norris, Filch's beloved kitten, who had dobbed them in more times than he could count.

Sirius opened the drawing-room door and was struck by a blast of noise and light as strong as a Shield Charm. Raucous laughter, the fizz and screech of fireworks, music blasting from a wireless, infectious giggles, light and sound and beautiful chaos.

The children had not passed out. It was two a.m. and they were having a party on the first night of the summer holidays.

His lips twitched toward a smile, even in his shock. If there was a way to show their defiance of Lord Voldemort, it was in their younger generations. Two of his nieces were dancing energetically on top of the grand-piano, which Rigel was playing with extraordinary enthusiasm, battling against the painful volume of a record-player pounding out a high-pitched Muggle dance song. A raucous peal of laughter echoed as a handful of Billywig darts appeared six inches from Sirius' nose, missing by feet the game-board that had been stuck haphazardly to the wall over painfully vivid paint; someone had sent off paint-bombs that glittered and pulsed with light, and his youngest-looking nephew was _licking_ the paint, which was drawing rude signs on the peeling wallpaper. Across the room, a vibrant Muggle film was somehow being projected onto the Black family tapestry, loud and musical, colourful; popcorn, sweets, Filibuster fireworks and Doxy eggs littered the floor, and adult Doxies flitted about the room, dodging jinxes, darting at the kids, trying to bite the unwary.

A small-scale battle was going on, the sofas turned with their backs to each other, joke-jinxes and hexes fired at each other like snowballs from behind the barricades, just missing Opal, who was shuddering with giggles with another cousin, decorating one of the teenagers, who appeared to be under the influence of a Full Body-Bind Jinx, with conjured fairies and tinsel and cosmetics stolen from another cousin's bag on the coffee-table, which was littered with magazines and Chocolate Frog cards, sweeties and toys, books and someone's pet Puffskein, and the goo that had made its way onto Crookshanks' fur.

Dung-bombs and _Dervish & Banges_' finest were flung across No Man's Land, light and sounds exploded - honks, ear-splitting screeching, siren wails and a tumult of parrots trained to swear incessantly - and _scents_ \- a mixture of dragon-manure, overripe cheese and a touch of ginger, strawberry jam and freshly-baked bread, so pungent it made him gag - and, glancing up, he saw one of his nephews _swimming_ through the iridescent bubbles that undulated over the cracked, peeling plaster of the ceiling, yelling over the music, " _Mai_ , _let me down -_ I need a wee!Hello? _! That's it -_ forget April - there's gonna be July showers! _You were warned!_ "

Two teenagers _zoomed_ into sight, one of them with toy broomsticks lashed to their feet, Antiope wearing Muggle roller-skates and a violently violet mouth-guard; she tripped over a knot in the carpet, and slammed into the wall, groaning and laughing hysterically, as she ricocheted and caught a Tickling Jinx, covered in paint, and started to levitate, flailing her limbs inelegantly as her sister laughed and continued to dance rambunctiously on the piano, dodging a lit Filibuster firework that was being shot between cousins using Badminton rackets, laughing raucously. The glowing gobstones orbited the room, absorbing everything - the cello playing a familiar concerto ferociously, a young boy with riotous natural curls stuck with goo frantically yelling, " _We need more gravy_!" as he and his brother chased after a charmed voodoo doll that was toddling about, sweeping everything off the coffee-table and screaming like a demonic gingerbread-man baby, and Maia, who fired a Jelly-Legs Jinx at Antiope as soon as her roller-skates touched the carpet.

Sirius sighed, smiling to himself. Such beautiful chaos.

His stomach hurt.

Had things been different - had he chosen differently - he would've been the one slipping them joke-shop products; and Harry would have been in the thick of it, with the kids he had grown up with as brother and sisters, his cousins. Happy - and confident in the knowledge he was loved, unconditionally.

"Guess we chose the wrong room," observed Torin, who grinned and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his cousin with the toy-brooms lashed to his feet squawk, catching a very interesting jinx that made pustules of lightning crackle over his dark skin, grab hold of the chandelier as he lost one toy-broom to Transfiguration - he screamed as a pygmy hippopotamus roared, lashed to his foot. Crookshanks hissed as a small monkey scampered across the floor, toward one of the small cousins, whose head had been Transfigured into a cockatoo's, plume included, and puffed up as Elvis started playing; he was dancing away, completely unfazed. A small Muggle camera flitted about, snapping photographs.

Sirius stepped back, and closed the door, Crookshanks bristling at his ankles, the sudden silence in the corridor unnatural.

"Is that normal?" he asked Torin.

"That's tame," his nephew answered, as Ellaria muttered.

"It always ends in tears," said Okoye.

"Usually ours," Perseus muttered.

"Their aim _is_ improving," said Torin fairly. "And that bottle-rocket wasn't _entirely_ Hector's fault; Siobhan paid him to set it off. She just…didn't exactly specify _where_."

"Come on," Ellaria sighed, squaring her shoulders. "I hunt Dark wizards…our children aren't that terrifying _en masse_."

" _Ours_ aren't," Melanthe corrected her pointedly, and Ellaria smirked as she opened the door. Crookshanks' fur stood on end as noise exploded again, gagging scents drifting out - now, blue shimmering smoke followed it, tangible and causing Torin to jump away - but too slow; he started itching his exposed skin, which had turned bristly, covered in coarse orange hair.

"Not _again_! _MAIA!_ " he bellowed, slowly Transfiguring into an Orang-utan, and the portraits started to wake up, competing with the hysterical giggles inside the drawing-room; Remus dashed off to Stun the paintings, and Sirius followed Ellaria into the drawing-room, where parents were trying to settle the civil war, un-Transfiguring Hector and untangling the pygmy-hippopotamus from Bertie's foot and letting Edmund down from the ceiling.

"What happened to Sandor?" asked Torin thoughtfully, gazing at the young teenager covered in tinsel and fairies and glowing baubles and makeup, trussed up like a party-tree, and promising bloody murder with only his eyes, which were narrowed on his youngest sister, Yasmin, and Opal, who had a crocodile-skink clinging to her hair, which was now midnight-blue and glittering and sticking out from her head as if she had been struck by lightning, a fabulous glittering fuchsia moustache on her face and a psychedelic swirling monocle pinched in front of her eye. She unpeeled the case of a small cake loaded with pink icing and sugar-pearls and gazed up at Sirius with innocent, now-mismatched eyes, leaving a trail of tulips whenever she let off wind, which propelled her forward a foot and made her giggle lethargically.

"Crucifixion," said Antiope, as if this should have been very clear.

Sirius choked as Opal, wandering past, looked him in the eye and said, completely deadpan, "The weak don't survive."

She paused, beamed at him, let off a little fart, scooped up the tulip and handed it to Sirius, blushing coyly.

"Thank you," Sirius said graciously, holding in his laughter, and she latched on to his hand, watching the adults attempt to return the drawing-room to order - the voodoo-doll attacked; the cello went haywire, vengefully playing a distorted Mozart concerto, the bow whipped at anyone who approached; Vulcan and tiny Drax started crying when Okoye approached 'Thomas' - the pygmy hippopotamus; Perseus pirouetted as Doxies descended upon him with a subtle flick of her wand from Ellaria, who bit her lip, unable to resist jinxing her favourite brother, and a full-grown Orang-utan barrelled into the room and went straight for Maia, who grinned and bent to kiss his face.

As they watched the chaos, Ellaria murmured names to Sirius, allowing him to learn the names of his nieces and nephews born after his arrest. Sandor, Jory, Vulcan, Malkom and Drax had followed Siobhan, Letitia and Antiope, the sons of Perseus and Zimbabwe-native Okoye. Ellaria's youngest-surviving sister Melanthe had just married blonde athletics-obsessed Neil and been pregnant with Edmund when Sirius was arrested; after the war had ended, Benjen "Bertie", Hector, Megara and little Yasmin had followed in quick succession.

Yasmin started crying as Melanthe tried to separate her from Opal and Drax, who apparently all adored one another, close in age and delighted to be able to play with each other again; Opal was a rare treat, as she only showed up in Britain once a year. As the Orang-utan signed furiously to Maia, who feigned ignorance, Melanthe frowned at the Muggle film, still projected onto the curtains - and Perseus yelled as his youngest sons giggled and watched him struggle against the Doxies.

"That's _Muggle_ \- I recognise the actors from the posters splashed all over London. Did you charm some Muggle device so you could watch one of their films?" Melanthe exclaimed, shooting her husband a frown: Neil caught Maia's eye across the room and grinned, whistling guiltily.

"No!" Rigel laughed, shaking his head. "Of course not!"

Maia, flicking her wand at a very Muggle-looking black box and levitated a stack of iridescent silver discs to a black folder full of flimsy sleeves, added chidingly, "That's _illegal_ , Auntie."

* * *

 **A.N.** : Please let me know what you think!


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